A Humdrum Political Poem

The adrenaline rush, writes in
me, a declamation on a stage,
though a drizzle haze the lips
of a foreboding or a merriment.

Your attire doesn't frame a
speech. 'tis the tongue that's
wagging that goes haywire, 'tis
what a scourge politics makes.

Of them, anecdotes am I, an
avid collector, with sterile wit
doused with collective laughs,
frozen like artifacts.

Clowns standing at the podium
speak in hilarious hypocrisy,
their minds in contradiction
with their thoughts, astray.

They weave fantasy thoughts
around our migraine: Oh, they
declare war on other nations,
to the extent of deliverance.

Ah, it's those politicians of long
ago inherited, thoughts unlike
the sword and atomic bombs,
that caused hunger and poverty!

You can see eyes theirs of fire,
hunger for power and greed and
domination that the world go
round counter-clockwise.

Blink momentarily and you'll
miss much of the show of hatred
and greed, the will to let others
alone.

For what has one shoe far away
from your foot got to do with yours?
A way of life, a finger not like yours
affect you in the whole?

Power absolute corrupts mildly
but in the end absolutely, nations
this poem encompasses, oblique
passing of might assured.

Rome, once a mighty kingdom,
don't you remember, fell, now a
skeleton of its former self? "Out
of the frying pan into the fire."

Politicians, you makers of war,
convoluted twisters of facts to
suit your cravings, let every one
banish you from this earth, ever!

June 17, 2012
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