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Mere mention of his name
makes me want to dump...
donald chump
Flush him down and flush again to keep him in the ground.

Ashamed to claim my citizenship be a
laughingstock like him
the tyranny keeps growing
the future's looking grim
won't even wear my Yankee cap and hide under the brim

the problem is it's
not just him but also
those that grant him power  
they smell like shiza
and don't speak for me
so I decree they all need
a NiceAssZIppy shower
Like Manolo says in Scarface..... it's political mang

Bring your words and your feather let's have a duel my pencil will bring you to your knees you fool
MicMag Aug 2018
Oppressing the people
Deaf to their cries
STOP! SLOW DOWN!
GIVE US MORE!

Time marches on
As indifferent to what
Lies ahead
As what came before
Time rules us all
Brandon Conway Jun 2018
Tick

In the tyranny of the measuring clock
Death is but a tortoise in this timeless race
With every slow tick and echoing tock
Forever keeping its careless pace

With so much to do I stay awake
With one foot in front of the other
Running with knees and feet that ache
Time feeds worms a salutary supper

In the end we must lie and nap
Embrace eternal slumbers deadlock
We are just hares caught in times trap
In the tyranny of the measuring clock

Tock
Elicia Hurst Apr 2018
To Jess

She wanted to bury me alive
but i will (not) hand her the shovel
to dig my grave.

She wanted to ignite me
but i will (not) bathe in gasoline
and revel in the incense.

i almost thought i saw heaven
when hell had me at hello,
almost.

But i am flesh and fire,
i am iron and ice.  
Do I burn?

And burn and burn,
reduce her
down to
ashes
and
(if I have to)
light the torch
to My lungs, My bones,
My skin, My blood and My sanity,

Burn and burn and burn until
nothing
is left of
Me
just to cremate her?
(as I yell with shortness of breath,
"sic semper tyrannis!
")

or do i fall
and let her take all?
Feb 2016
Elicia Hurst Apr 2018
To Jess

The heat, the humidity,
And the bright blankness of the sky.

Handicapped by fear, not darkness.
Shaken, yet their bodies vigilant.

Bold crimson seared through the flesh
Like fresh sin bled into it.

A conspicuous scarlet letter.
I was a public display, a warning to all.

An audience of whispers whirled before me,
But I did not waver like they did.

Cross after cross, crisis after crisis,
Crucifixion made hands sandpaper dry.

My sentence was final. A full stop.
I danced with deadly weight.

I was hell itself. I had walked through fire.
My skin marked unforgiving constellations.

So what was that little light of yours,
To a shell dead inside?
Mar 2015
Francie Lynch Feb 2018
I've read it as vis major.
It was written in the Senate,
And dealt with all detractors,
And the Judes and Cristos,
And the gods know whom else.

He said it leaving Elba,
Cas fortuit, was the figure head
Cutting through the white water waves,
Churning all miscreants beneath his rising currents.

The columns rose from Ettersberg Hill
In black reeks and was read in cries,
Casus fortuitous.

These are forces we will reckon with,
And as the predecessors went,
So will today's,
Dragged like Faustus,
Unrepentant and ******
For the cold blue smoke
From the shark grey barrels.
It should not come as a surprise
Though the right posture
A subordinate doesn't lack
"Do in Rome as Romans do"
With a curved back
S/he has to walk!

It shouldn't come
As a surprise
Watching journalists
Praise that shower
On a tyrant government
In power!
Modern slavery
Petra Dec 2017
Become exalted among men.
That was his calling, down
To the fibers that made up
His consciousness.

Become a paragon of virtue.
Piety, prestige, power.
The three undulating commands
That invaded his dreams.

Hubris seeping from every pore,
He conquered his lands,
Spreading warmth from which
Came serendipity.

Will he die and leave his subjects
In a mask of pain?
Or will his benevolence remain
in the hearts of his loyal followers?

Such was the opaque fog
of his mind. Where he saw a perfect
Sphere of light
was an oblate cloud of darkness

Out of which seeped words
Of encouragement.
Prestige, piety. Power.
Benevolence. Destiny.
Just one more body.
Just one more royal cause.
They don't mind dying for you.
They will become martyrs;
You will become their god.

They call him a tyrant.
No. That word will not be allowed
In his country.
But
The darkness grows within him,
Becoming him.
Power corrupts people; most tyrants do not begin their rule with the intention of evil.
'Imagine A Brave New World.
Where all tyranny rests
inside a crypt named "Constitution,"
and Communism becomes America's ideal.'

Bringing
    Everything
   Altogether
S ocially
             Technologically

Oh brave new world,
such a strange old place...
huckster's abound
for the sleeping *a
wake.
ta
keen
sum
si't
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