It’s the silences that get to me
The empty spaces in between
The otherwise continuous stream
Of noisy, gung-ho positivity
And unveiled anger, bordering on
The vitriolic

Its the silences that show
The hollow truth behind what we know
To be no more than a protective facade
In this dialectic war, any words
Will serve as ammunition

But then we falter, attempted misdirection,
Distraction, ultimately unsatisfying descents
Into whatabouttery lead only to a realisation
That the barrel is empty, the battle is lost…

…At least, this time, as we emerge
Once again forthrightly on the front foot
Confident of a position that can once again
Ignore, avoid the distraction of either facts
Or purpose.