Triumph and exit

In the post-truth era,

look back in shame,

we even forgot

our own name. 

The mob got it. 

When you're innocent

and desperate,

any change,

however strange

is heaven-sent

and sure to fix it. 

Siren voices spoke it,

they said,

we can fake it,

just reach for 

triumph and exit,

grin like fools,

leap like pawns

grasp the straw

and break it.

Better dead 

than red or

some other 

colour that 

some other bled. 

Under Trexit rules,

(have you got it yet?)

why listen to 

experts  and their

silent screams

when a new era

dawns built on 

impossible dreams?