Gaslights gloaming deep amber rhetoric A train-wreck in reverse derailed in time Casting alternate darkness over hope Death and delusion with every pen’s stroke. The desert’s sand thick with my brother’s blood Boots on the ground children in harm’s way Our body and mind no longer our own Jackals from afar secured his gold throne. Constitution of the people not of one president. RESIST all that’s not true there is no alternate.
Not unlike a brazen giant of freak fame,
With transplant faux hair and a bad spray-tan;
Here at his brain-washed, iron-clad gates shall stand
A mighty moron with a torch, whose flame
Is the persona of gaslighting, and his name
Betrayer of Exiles. From his beacon-hand
Glows world-wide “No-Trespass” sign; his eyes scan
The bridgeless harbor that his sinful cities frame.
“Return to your ancient lands, you matter not!” cries he
With puckered lips. “I don’t want your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses scheming to steal from me
Such wretched refuse shan’t set foot upon my shore.
Send these, the homeless, back across the sea,
The light’s off and I locked the door!” by Hugh A Tague