Old Night Mare

(This is the third edition of this poem. I like it a lot, but thought initially it could be a bit more accessible. So I tinker every now and then. It was one of my very first poems, and sums up my frustrations pretty well)

Old Night Mare

The price of office,

The badge of one’s complacency

Is a burden told by taut green drapes

By endless debate on old problems

By Commissions, policies

And repeated redress

Caveats and conventions

Comprise the broken body

to a face we believed

just and fair

Corridors Crisscross ahead

Of a blackened tower

A façade of peace –

Hollowed by smoke and ash

Our direction has been taken from us:

Men once hopeful

Are pulled downward

Tired old skin drawn out over green lamps

Tables and carpeted stairs-

Melting into the scenery

Pulled downward into depths

Lengthened by the heft of countless attempts

At legislative redemption

While the blood of good intentions oozes outward

Seeps through the floors

And downward into the bowels

Of our good parliament