I was called to walk on the water,
but I ****** in the lake instead,
polluted the whole of creation,
until all its creatures were dead.

I was called to heal all the people
with hands that are gentle and kind
but I couldn’t turn round a profit
so I shat on the lame and the blind.

I was called to bring peace to creation
but found it better to sell,
weapons of mass destruction,
and condemn all the nations to hell.

And if I complain that the world,
is *******, unfair and unkind,
it’s because I ****** in the water
and left all my refuse behind.

A-walking ‘round a stony crag
atop which stands a castle strong:
I know each rock and brick and ****
that went to build it for so long.

My forebears helped to build this place
from its earliest days, just a palisade.
Thence it grew into this mighty space
that would touch the moon by fear unweighed.

The builders began, so constant and brave.
In Godspeed and discovery they came.
Once planted, a flower of May then gave
this rock two pillars of its fame.

Today it shines out far from its hill up high,
unhidden citadel of radiant beams,
reposed beneath the starry sky
while white and red roads to it stream.

Four hundred years — or thousands more —
has it took to make this fortress fair
at great cost to those who came before.
The scent of their toil fills the mountain air.

Yet this great rock is now on the verge
of toppling into the abyss below:
For those who claim it must be purged
now storm the keep with torches aglow.

Now there’s fear this fateful fortress will fall
to the whims and rage of a dishonest beast
who claims to just want to save it all
but will only lead to its defeat.

These castle walls shall not be breached
by the demons it once bred within.
The people who still build it shall reach
new vistas to the beast’s chagrin.

The world watches.
They hold their breaths
as the ballots are cast-
a responsibility and gift
not to be taken
for granted.

One more quadrennial,
one more election.
One more dawn,
one more day.
One day more and
we turn a page and enter
one more chapter of history.

A fork in the road.
Will it stab me like a knife
or spoon feed me joy?

Our voices have been stymied, choked off, obstructed
Forever. Let every single vote be counted and tabulated
All must live up and adhere to the democratic principles
Let the vote counters do their jobs. The real exit polls
Are taking place now.Everybody's votes are important
Everybody's voices must be heard; we are adamant
About that. Let's the hard working volunteers do their jobs
We will have a NEW soon. Let our fighters use the big jabs.
Leave the indefatigable clerks alone, let them count the ballots
Stop the nonsense. Quit acting belligerent in the parking lots
All votes must be counted. Democracy is a meticulous process
Be patient. It takes time and resiliency to see and reap its success
Our voices must be heard. Democracy has its particular finesse.

Copyright © November, 2020 Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poetry.

Politicians drift,

because The Majority --


doesn't know what they want.