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Wither Bloodfall Apr 2020
I will sit upon the throne of disaster
When the time comes, I'll be dethroned
By something
Far greater
and perhaps i'll obtain some meaning in this life of mine
Perhaps i won't
Doesn't matter
For now, as long as the sun is lit
With an elixir of immeasurable fire
I shall bear the heat
of my broken kingdom
I am wrath
I am the tyrant.
Debbie Lydon Apr 2020
To own a selfish and reckless will,
It is monstrous and a tyrant over me still,
It holds the hand of my ambition when I meet my shy dreams,
And hands me a cup of cowardice sourced from apathy's streams.

Passion has a seat at the banqueting table,
It wants to be more than friends with unstable,
A chaotic spiral of emotions has awoken,
But time wears the crown and I think time has spoken.
Michael R Burch Mar 2020
Feathered Fiends
by Michael R. Burch

Fascists of a feather
flock together.


Conformists of a feather
flock together.

I came up with the "Fascists of a Feather" epigram after Donald Trump repeatedly praised authoritarian "strong men" like Vladimir Putin, Kim Jong Un, Rodrigo Duterte, Xi Jinping and Recep Tayyip Erdoğan. Heroic Americans fought a war against fascism and many of them paid the ultimate price, so why is Trump giving comfort to the enemy of democracy?

The alternate version of this couplet was written first and won a National Couplet Contest sponsored by the Society of Classical Poets. The couplet has now been published in one form or another on the websites of major newspapers and news services like, (Israel), ******.com (Australia), (as the headline of a letter to the editor), Reddit Political Humor, and Humane Conservatives Unite Blog. Sometimes the epigram is quoted in reader comments, sometimes by the writers of letters to the editor, and sometimes within articles.

Keywords/Tags: fascists, flock, together, fascism, conformists, nazis, blackshirts, brownshirts, dictator, tyrant, autocrat, despot, totalitarian, cultist, militarist
Aquila Feb 2020
tyrannicide is a beautiful word.
it is the felling of a beast.
the anger of the insurgent hordes.
It is just as much the killing of a dictator
as it is
the killing
of a god.
modern tyrannicide
is telling the boy who sits behind me to shove a sock in it,
and not feeling guilty about it.
HWYYYYYYYY HYYWYW HHFYWIh i am in distress but its alright alright alright
Sharon Talbot Nov 2019
You’re gone at last, so at last I can think.
Insulting! Humiliating, not to be able to fire back,
As you put me once more on a mental rack.
It’s no wonder that I want a drink.

But by now I want so much more than strife.
I want to scorch your villainy with shame,
To crush your “triumph” and ruin your name,
And make you watch how you poison life.

Yet I am stuck beneath your wealth,
Undone if I demur in the least.
You spring upon me, a mental carnivore’s feast.
While I resort to stealth.

My father watched your villainy from the beyond,
from the so-called “Heaven” in which you planned to meet him,
As if that will ever happen! As if he would want to see you!
Is enlightenment part of the afterlife?  You should hope so.

But since you finally let go of your empty  life,
I do not miss you, don't mourn you or feel that confusion
That people say I should, that I'd be torn with strife,
No, no! Not at all—I feel nothing at all.
Jodie-Elaine Mar 2019
Tyrant vandal Belly buttons born from tongue toy hammer whack shameless pantomime gold-digger jezebel ***** archetype bad product off food witchy fingers green fluorescent pink yellow ray of backwards twist mother truckers flat wheel tyre engine fire engine whoop weep tear tears down ripped up feeling face straight up to ceiling baby crib our tired little limbs break against the tide I want to swim away from here place island Caribbean holiday at Christmas I don’t want to be here when I get back lead trail hike walk up the stairs followed my shadow tie me up to lamppost dead flowers bouquet take give taker giver relationship spit out the blues by Benny and The Jets riddle saxophonists up walls and silly laughter clown faces you are a good morning stream streamer party thrower down sink lob me up pipes plumber broken loo place to sit and ponder on my **** think too many faces cherub fat little smile me a river bend down here we build a fort like kids and you’re home for ***** sake safety traffic cone orange still scares me to death bobby pins left on windowsills I chuck the memory out back it makes me sick pummel the cheekbones down flat face two face baby feet get into bins bin trash bag split when I picked it up I’m covered in rotten courgetti hipster you’re a stinking mess I hate your stupid shoes walk in a straight line you drunken ******* skip home with me hop scotch decanter glass slips off side crash pop Rice Krispy cereal noise white noise rain playlist through the walls
I push through in pure stubbornness
leave us be
lots of love,
Manipulated stream of consciousness poem from the 'PERFORMANCE ARTIST POETRY...' collection.
Jon-Luc Sep 2018
Do not fret, for I’m no Tyrant.
Nor, am I a Liberator
I’am, the path for which you seek.
Do, you care to see it?

I can not mend wounds, for I’m not a Healer.
Nor, am I a tormentor.
I’am the vision, that you dream of.
Do, you care to hear it?

I can not forge steel, for I’m not a Blacksmith
Nor, am I a saboteur
I’am, the unity of which you desire.
Do, you care to taste it.

I can not be wise, for i’m not a Guru.
Nor, am I a apprentice.
I’am that of which is void.
Do, you care to feel it.
Praggya Joshi Aug 2018
I hope that those
Who think that
they are free
Cause that's what
They're made to believe
Soon realize
That real freedom
They haven't yet achieved
And gather their strength
To resume their fight
Against those
Whose tyranny
Haven't yet diminished
Dakota J Dawson Mar 2018
Echoes of yesterday
Where do they end?
Upon the elf on the shelf

Santa has passed
Forsaken my abode
The inner being of my soul

He is the sole provider
My decider
Triumphant tyrant of woe

Must he be my foe?
Glowing with reassurance
Of the personification of hate

I'm a good boy
How about a treat?
It has to be just for me

To eat
Forcibly scarf down
My bitter hole

Santa will want
Me to rake
His' yard

But I will refuse
The suddenly offered abuse
From a passing sore of lore
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