This Is No Mistake

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This is no mistake, no error made by human hand,
No honest slip twixt cup and lip, or detail missed on messy page.
Nor does incompetence play its competent supporting role.
It’s lying, cheating with malice and her looking glass, all minutely planned.

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To what do I refer? To what Brexit question does this all relate?
What waves of desperation now break on Blighty’s blighted shores?
Where lies the wreck of our inheritance, our lifeboats of surviving truth?
We’re paired with striding demons, thieves of true debate.

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Days of lies now outnumber those that truth do speak,
The sun doth break but does not set, till nonsense 
Flicks his forkéd tongue and has his aggravated say.
And as the sun sets once again, like dusky light, our lifeblood leaks. 

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So cast them off; these knitted lies are not of error stitched.
Overboard these two must go, the tempter and the tempted,
No more to plague our house, no more to wreck that train of thought.
This pair not spared? If not, I ask - are we yet bewitched?
©Keith Murphy