A poem that isn’t about Brexit.
I remember at school we read ‘Lord of the Flies’,
And it struck me, the terrible state of those guys.
When left to take matters into their own hands,
They all well and truly fucked up their land.
They were torn and divided and killing their own,
In a frantic attempt to take over the throne.
The ones resolute to make their island “Great”,
Were the hunters, the savages; kids full of hate.
Those working together to simply survive;
It’s those kids who failed to come out alive.
The boys all believed they could rule their own land,
With a jungle of ashes and blood on their hands.
It wasn’t until the ship pulled up to shore,
That the kids all remembered who they were before.
The sailor watched as the boys wept into sand,
And slowly the officer held out his hand.
Then the boys knew the damage they caused with their fighting,
Could have all been avoided, by simply uniting.
But hey, what do I know? It’s fantasy fiction.
There’s no way at all it could be a prediction.