A Warning To the Government, Redone
Across the war torn atrophy,
A decomposing cracked corpse,
Shakes and splits in the sovereignty,
Of the rounded Earth which warps.
Annihilated by the angst of grouped race:
A false duplicitous spell,
Cast by the convention of crooked space,
Filled by the blackest of magic from hell.
Governance is but a season of treason,
To portent an enemy’s existence,
Denying the bond of unblind reason,
In order to mock the truth of resistance.
Robins once flittered in hooded cloaks,
To unveil the robes of thieves,
Whose crowns are but a farcical coax,
To control what the world believes.
Locked in this cyclical wheel of a hamster,
We pay our unwarranted dues,
With neither representation nor an answer,
To why we’re enslaved by you.
But then again a slave sees no master but the devil lashing a whip,
Which often slips from the grip of twits who dare disparage the blood that it makes drip.
How fickle the tick-tock trickle of skin flicked quick by tickles of thy tyrant’s trick,
Beware, dear brickhead politic, clocks can’t fuel fire when there’s no wick to stick.
Copyright © Beej Simrov | Year Posted 2018
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