Brexit Sonnet No. 125 - 'No Man’s Land of Brexit Strife’
 

Here I lie in my shattered shell hole hell,
Mud seeps in, cold against my skin.
Rats scurry, inhaling that dense decaying smell;
Oh no man's land! - No prize, no pride, no win.
This land created by two opposing sides, 
I'm trapped between the two, nowhere to go.
Will sense break out before I'm forced to rise, 
And choice to make which wretched line to toe. 
There's wire to cross whichever way I choose, 
There's whizz bang bullets I'll have to dodge,
I'll pack up my troubles, what's left to lose? 
Which way remains? That's where I wish to lodge. 
Oh Lord, please help me choose a path for life, 
No more this no man’s land of Brexit strife. 

© Keith Murphy