It is not until I see it on my own TV
that I perceive that we are all like him,
poor prisoners of our grief and pain
who blink at this unheeding world
and cannot bear to contemplate
that this is all there is.
He is plump and pale, yet full of fight,
and young as I am old;
too young to know he makes the news
to sound that bell of hope
that threatens those
who lack the means
and strength to make their case.
Their lives are led:
a brief age past,
they would be left for dead.
So look not to find mercy
where is capital our king
and our greed becomes our coffin
since, by it, we're all
© Abigail Wyatt
Abigail lives in Redruth in Cornwall where she writes poetry and short fiction and does her best to remain positive. Her new blog is at abigailelizabethwyatt.