Well, the latest poetry that I have written was not political in nature. Most of my poetry as of late as been rather, erm, dark. Never the less, I will post the last poem I wrote in here for you to read, but I'm not sure you'll enjoy it
Falling Walls
The greyish stone mass that was erected,
Looked stronger than any fortress ever seen;
Now a blanket covers it, painted all in green,
One would say that it has been neglected.
The stones began to crumble into powdery ash,
Bound together only by the tight woven moss;
Requiescat in pace engraved in stone for it�s loss,
And now is nothing more than a mere storm sash.
The storms are infrequent, but are violent still,
Protection is needed, so I stand within the walls
Meandering through the forts colossal halls,
Hoping that it�s not me the storm is going to kill.
The wind and the rain have battered the stones,
I see these wide apertures beginning to form
As they cannot hold up to the puissant storm,
I feel the chill pierce straight through my bones.
Fervently I sought a thing to bar the iniquitous flood,
But the Gods deemed me fit for a daunting task;
My eyes cannot face this evil adorned with a mask,
So I slash my wrists, hoping to drain all my blood.