Brexit
Brexit
There are, depending on who you ask, at least five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. I've been through them all in relation to Brexit, at least twice! I'm am emotional wreck, and Phil (bless him) keeps telling me to let it go, to move from denial and depression towards acceptance. This poem is far from perfect technically, but captures my continuing journey to come to terms with Brexit.
I began as a passionate supporter, sure of my views,
Convinced of my arguments, I followed the news.
Then literally sick to my stomach, I cried
When the votes were counted. And verified.
Since then I've been through all the stages of grief,
First stunned disbelief, and shame that our nation
Could turn its back on decades of co-operation,
Preferring a misguided isolation.
Felt the need to break away from party politics
Embarrassed at politicians' self seeking tricks
Their back stabbing, internal rows relentless,
Careers more important than reaching consensus.
Depressed at how long it takes to agree nothing,
I've signed petitions - to try at least to do something.
Admired the masses who took to the street
Having lost the vote, voting with their feet.
Despite being worried about my children's future,
I've become part of the majority who just want it over.
Accepted the inevitable, buried my head in the sand
(No point worrying about things you cannot change.)
But it turns out things aren't set in stone.
The leave date can be moved, if you need to postpone,
Options might be wider than deal or no deal.
And I've found grief isn't linear. It's an emotional wheel.
I can't be the only one who feels like this.
© Copyright 2019. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved
There are, depending on who you ask, at least five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. I've been through them all in relation to Brexit, at least twice! I'm am emotional wreck, and Phil (bless him) keeps telling me to let it go, to move from denial and depression towards acceptance. This poem is far from perfect technically, but captures my continuing journey to come to terms with Brexit.
I began as a passionate supporter, sure of my views,
Convinced of my arguments, I followed the news.
Then literally sick to my stomach, I cried
When the votes were counted. And verified.
Since then I've been through all the stages of grief,
First stunned disbelief, and shame that our nation
Could turn its back on decades of co-operation,
Preferring a misguided isolation.
Felt the need to break away from party politics
Embarrassed at politicians' self seeking tricks
Their back stabbing, internal rows relentless,
Careers more important than reaching consensus.
Depressed at how long it takes to agree nothing,
I've signed petitions - to try at least to do something.
Admired the masses who took to the street
Having lost the vote, voting with their feet.
Despite being worried about my children's future,
I've become part of the majority who just want it over.
Accepted the inevitable, buried my head in the sand
(No point worrying about things you cannot change.)
But it turns out things aren't set in stone.
The leave date can be moved, if you need to postpone,
Options might be wider than deal or no deal.
And I've found grief isn't linear. It's an emotional wheel.
I can't be the only one who feels like this.
© Copyright 2019. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved
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