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Leaving

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But spectators it can seem despite our mark,
our vote, our conscience made.
But what change occurs with soil and soul,
all rights and wrongs shall fade.

Yet I was never given choice,
and neither was my father.
What choice occurs within such blurs,
our principles, or morals, rather.

For once we were the makers of such things,
and gentle hands would stay, or fist would clench,
to face all demon, to vanquish, end,
not retract like timid wench.

Shall a nation bold succumb to fear,
insecure less find its strength.
For we now fear such things, with what spin brings,
to tempt volition, at any length.

I fear my nation’s courage has gone.
And all principles become indecision.
For those never asked, to reset such flaws.
With regard to a nation’s permission.

Upon each day defiance grows of earnest,
of whispers soft, of insecurity, of fears.
What we were known for once, would not fear so easily,
yet we become but shadows of our former years.

For I do not turn my back on wondrous souls.
I do not forsake my friends across sea.
But I am a nation of the world, that would choose for itself,
and would not think less of friends, should they less of me.

Amongst the woes and angst upon each day,
we have forgotten we shall always manage within the din.
What decisions I can make, and what principles retake,
I would wish within my time, although thought of as a sin.

For of worth and value in a world of change,
there is perhaps no time for thoughts so bold.
For the worth of heart and principle of late,
resembles nothing I’m afraid of the old.

For I fear my nation’s courage has gone.
And all principles, become indecision.
For those never asked, to reset such flaws.
With regard to a nation’s permission.

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