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The Never-Ending Election

The Never-Ending Election

by: Guildford Windley

The Never-Ending Election
In the wind, the words blow-by
Inaction, nothing done
Time and energy wasted for what
People pouting, people shouting
In the streets and building
People caught in the frenzy
Still the voices of insanity
Mock the voice of reason
We have all been had
As the con man speaks
We whirl in his web of lies and deceit
The fantasy he has brought
Sucks the life from one’s soul
Minds now bent to his will
Those who fear his wrath
Tremble in obedience to his madness
Ah but the con man knows the mark so well
Money pours in from dumb suckers
Like Nero who fiddled as Rome burned dollar a gift to show their allegiance to the cult
He sings his tune of a martyr
But in truth, the martyrs of this Macbeth play
Are the souls of this nation that are suffering
The martyrs are the dead, or dying their blood is on the hands of this con man
The martyrs are the people now suffering from this trump plague
They are those whose business is gone or dying
The Martyrs are the Nurses
The Doctors and the First Responders
Working beyond the call to duty
Caught in a never any world of misery
The martyrs are those that have lost their world and now struggle
Hunger is what they face
Losing shelter left to the streets
These are the faces of the true martyrs of a wealthy nation
He who cries and lives like nothing happen in a world of his own illusion
Spends his time golfing and spending tax money on lavish parties
Yes, they wine and dine with no mask as they laugh at the lower class
Like Nero who fiddled as Rome burn
The Con man’s evil smile as venomous as the serpent
Is burning our democracy to the ground
Guildford H Windley
December 9, 2020

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