Hate His Touch

Art by Anne Stokes
“Summon The Reaper” Art by AnneStokes

Hate His Touch

by Hugh A Tague

Would you deny his ardent touch, if you could?
Has he brought wisdom as well as great pain?
Vanity’s cry in your reflection withstood
Your ignorance washed away with his rain.
Foolishly thinking you can take back your night
Each minute belongs to him and him alone
With the same voice he turned your hair pure white
His hold is deep-reaching into the bone.
When you thought that he couldn’t be watching
Closing your eyes, you feel his grip release
Slipping into a place no clocks are ticking
His reign upon your life will never cease.
Hate him for keeping you within his shroud
The Reaper’s touch, you will not disallow.

America Deceived

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America Deceived
by  Hugh A Tague

The American dream was once so clear
equality and freedom was the call.
“We The People” see through rose colored glasses,
while the wealthy cover their greedy asses.

False prophets preach to the mindless minions,
cloaked within a facade of righteousness.
With funds made from the sweat of the deceived
they reign supreme from the highest of seats.

Forty acres and a mule once proclaimed,
still we’re played for fools by those we elect.
Hungry and homeless children go to sleep,
both parents work still they can’t make ends meet.

Just poverty and despair trickle down,
our working class poor bearing the brunt.
Their children in service now blindly stand,
for corporate profit they die in foreign lands.

Forty acres and a mule once proclaimed,
false prophets preach to the mindless minions.
“We The People” see through rose colored glasses,
while the wealthy cover their greedy asses.