by Nick Gisburne
They died. We see the list, the lives, the names,
But few can feel the futures that they lost.
How many cold, manipulative games,
Repeated, do we need to count the cost?
‘Mistakes were made, but let us learn from this.’
The platitudes of politicians stink.
They shirk the burden, pointing at their piss,
The lies they lead their followers to drink.
Investigations. Government reports.
Committees, where the righteous have their say.
A ruling, from the loftiest of courts.
But nothing changes. Nothing goes away.
Tomorrow, when it happens, as it will,
Another faceless face will spread the swill.
