Sweet, Sweet Julian

Sweet Julian, dragged out,

Unshaven, beaten & swift,

In a muffled voice,

“Britain must resist”,

But,

The time for change,

Happened 7 years before this,

Now,

Hawks fly free

With dissolute resolve,

To venge deeds,

That did them little injury,

But,

Below their perch,

And beneath Belmarsh’s

Deep grey husk,

Sweet Julian,

Who drew a narrative,

Never his,

Or their own,

Dreams,

But he can never go home,

But,

When the dust clears,

And crooked smiles,

Reveal sneers,

The children of the world,

Will hang the leaves with tears,

For,

Sweet Julian,

The last solider of the wronged,

Who resisted,

When,

We were already

Gone.