Corbyn 

The more I see the new face of the new old Labour Party

I wonder through the veneer of his autocued grimace if it’s all new at all. 

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My Vote

With idealism we aspire
for lives different;
ballot papers blotted
with our hopeful future.

We vote,
each laying claim
to the outcome of our futures,
All professing the right route,
with other’s outdated and passé

We shuffle in booths.
We post our desires.
Handing over wishlists
to be seen and discounted.

We attend the sparse
drips of news,
to see if our faith was well placed.
our aspirations dormant
awaiting fruition.

With a shuffle of feet and cabinet,
we see defeat.
With hopes unheard,
pausing dreams of
an ulterior status quo.