Of Politics and Poetry (autobiography of a falling bomb)

A Scar is Born

Donald Dakota Devnet Darkhorse,

My alter ego, if you will...my justified, judicial, jubilant Jekyll and Hyde.

Society's silent screams of surrender and soundless songs for salvation are my shining source,

To courageously pull out my sharp sword of ink and slash the satanic serpents and scapegoats in a sadistic style so bona fide.

This suffering stallion has been brainwashed and still-tongued long enough,

And can't stand to be force-fed the appalling loquacious lies for another day.

A bomb descends from the hawk infested sky while the world wretchedly falls for Bush's betraying B-U-l-l-S-H-i-t bluff,

So sick of the mind games that the government plays with its citizens while the leaders hibernate on their 365 day-long holiday.

On Darkhorse Day, the doves and peace police shall simultaneously parade to the wicked White House valiantly waving our frayed White Flags,

Showing that in the midst of bloodshed and greed, comradeship and harmony always persist and prevail.

Commanding to the cretins to tell us the tragic truth as at half mass we sorrowfully set and see the atrocious and appalling American Rags,

Let us replace the overrated red, white, and blue with flags of freedom on the filthy and fractured flag poles and heroically hoist in the tainted air those splendid pale sails.

This political poetry might possibly put me in prison behind inescapable bars,

Perhaps it'll place me on the premier pinnacle of success and notoriety.

Another bomb falls to its fatality and detonates our dreams as we silently stare at the sparkling stars,

Their tricky twinkles reassure us that in time the freedom fighters will finally be free.

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