We have only ourselves to blame,
We all play the game;
Whether we like it or not,
We're all the same.
We all take the time to send away the sun,
To invite the rain,
Intoxication, too, may be a complicated concept,
But it started with the grain.
Ignorance allows us to shed blood,
Yet we turn a blind eye to the subsequent stain.

A sad story,
Masked by assertions of glory,
War, produced during a power struggle,
Reducing some to tears,
Others to rubble,
And alerting all, to likely trouble.
A decade to make the grade,
An overnight raid,
And a change in who's paid,
Who's 'made',
Who's slayed,
Or slain,
A re-focus for celebrations,
A re-focus for pain,
And a shift in justice perceived,
A shift in who is thanked,
And who is grieved,
Us all finding it easy to be grateful,
If the politicians and media are to be believed.

Human lives become chess pieces,
Played on a theoretical board, or playing field,
War calling for pawns to be sent to the other side,
At risk of being killed,
And now, a decade on, we capture the king,
The leader at the centre of the ring,
And we rejoice,
And we sing,
We sigh a breath and praise those higher than us,
For the relief that they bring.

But ultimately life is cheap;
If there's something to reap,
We find our leaders staring up at a castle's keep,
Iron-sights at the ready,
Morality shaken rock-steady,
Aspirations cloud-like and heady,
With politics ruling the roost,
Invisible agendas offering an ignorant boost,
And up opens that chess board again,
Ready for a new battle.

'Your' turn or 'ours'?

© Alex Frost 2011