The only thing
that keeps surprising me
is that so many people
are -still- astounded
that
the devil
and his demons
that
they lie
they cheat
they hate
they rape
they murder
they torture
the kind
the innocent
the loving children
of any race
of any creed
of any colour
So
Go out
and vote
Go out
and fight
Go out
against the evil
and
side with the angels
© 2020-08-28
Again a Rome's burning
skins charred black
of many a righteous
bullied by the legion
She wearily marched
the fifty seven steps
up the capitol altar
of law enforcement
There the mother saw
a just brother bent
at the oppressive boot
of a state trooper
The blue legionnaire
posing as a sheriff
held up his whip
trumpling* on his betters
The showcase Caesar
put down his thumb
while flashing a grin
ordering thirty nine lashes
There the mother saw
the scourge lashing out
on those already burned
her scars bled fuzz blue
As the Republican mob
cheered and hailed
the lethiferous lashes
at the children of a King
Yet from far and above
the True and Ultimate
watched this great divide
on earth counter to heaven
The Eternal sighed
¡ Vote !
¡ March !
¡ Protest !
¡ Overcome !
¡ As on earth !
¡ As in heaven !
*
Yes, I know it is `trampling´ but given current times I think `trumpling´ is more fitting.
© 2020-08-28
To Q-Anon and other deplorables
This unprecedented unpresidential may scare his offspring
But even Melania mocks him
©️
Very well children,
I will read you a bedtime story.
And with that I picked up the book
of colourless and genderless fairytales.
White.
Everything is white.
The picture on the wall,
the room in his mind.
Only his life
seems to be black,
white and grey.
Like a wounded animal
they shut themselves,
He him,
out.
Lock out from what?
Is there at all
something
worth
to prevent being excluded.
He shouts
at the empty
whiteness.
White,
He whispers to his love.
Regretttably,
he fears,
she too can only think grey.
The lecherous greyness
of the masses,
o how he detests it,
he calls
silently
at his gray love.
His naked love says:
you're mad, my archangel,
what do you mean by white?
Well,
what does he mean
by white.
White,
he wispers,
white is white
and
white is as a blank page,
virginal white for the eye
but
already tarnished
or
stained with grey.
I'm looking
for the true
primordial white.
The white
that stands for
innocense and liberty,
where I can
let the idle defenseless children
of my imagination roam smoothly.
White is not a colour,
he concludes deeply.
Without any trouble
or remorse
he just shut out
his grey naked love.
Black
he is now,
black
to preserve
the white.
To prevent
that the grey
of his love
affects
his precious white.
White,
they whisper
smiling at each other.
Her smile
that of incomprehension
but full of love
that accepts his insanity.
His smile
that of betrayal
and loneliness.
Quietly they huddle
against each other.
Just before
his naked love
falls asleep
he hears her
breathe:
tomorrow, tomorrow
I will try
to be white for you.
And he realizes,
in a wave of clarity
through his own gray
delusional world,
that his only love
is already white.
And so
my children
ends this fairytale.
maybe next time I will
read you a story on grey
and later or before on black.
For now
I wish you
a quiet night
full of love
and of sleep.
© Oct. 1985 - Aug. 2020
