Poem

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1.
Lions

I am a bigger lion than you

No one is a bigger lion than me

Watch me dart to the left of you

So sorry you tripped going to the left of me

 

Suits

 

There are suits that fit and suits that don’t

He chose to wear a suit that didn’t

To a tea party he went wearing a suit that didn’t

They grumbled that he wore a suit that didn’t

 

Closet

He was raised in a family of moderates

His father was a famous moderate

I believed he was a closeted moderate

I no longer believe he was a moderate

 

Who is he?

 

If he’s not a liberal

Or a conservative

Not even a moderate

Who is he?

 

Choices

 

A liar?

A pragmatist?

An opportunist?

 

?

 

No one knows

Not even he knows

Let’s hope he never knows

Eventually he’ll know
2.
Lost

All is hidden he thinks

But nothing is concealed

All is revealed

 

Fooled

 

He fooled the world he thinks

But not the soul or the brain

There’ll be strain

 

Visits

 

One night whether awake or asleep

He’ll be visited by ghosts of his past

They’ll speak of all he thought he hid

They won’t let him conceal

All will be revealed

 

And visits

 

Then the nights will be long awake or asleep

He’ll continue to be visited by ghosts of his past

They’ll say it was he who was fooled

He’ll feel the groaning of his soul the tumbling in his brain

There will be no end to the strain
3.
Taking

In his career he lined out the poor

In his campaign he grabbed from the rich

He raided the poor and fleeced the rich

Heads I win – tails I win

Heads you lose – tails you lose

 

Flawed

He learned to transfer wealth

He did not learn to create wealth

If the ghosts do not visit him

It goes deeper than I thought

He has a tragic flaw is my thought

 

Sociopath

 

He’s possessed by more than a lie

He’s more than a shrewd pragmatist

He’s sicker than a petty opportunist

He’s a pathological sociopath
4.
No Soul

So he’s a sociopath

Then he’ll not be visited by a ghost

There’ll be no groaning of the soul

For there is no soul to groan

 

Heel

 

It’ll be left to churning minds

Who felt the point of his pen

And the farce of his campaign

To bring him to heel