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The storm is coming The beast comforts himself His minions hold great hope And wait for his magic The world dies a little each day anticipating the deluge that’s lying on the fringes of extreme narcissism and madness Nothing stands long if hatred is its base and exclusion its driving force, surrounded by a mono-colored landscape saddled with an empty spirit Those with great expectations Lacking critical thinking Believe the world will be theirs And maybe it will, for a small minute Until the delusion and sham opens their eyes, Just before their humanity is torn from their souls leaving them squirming in eternity praying to an empty cloud.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2017

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Date: 3/7/2017 6:06:00 PM
This is great.. it echoes my inner ranting of the last eight months. This poem should be scrolled across the screen during the news.
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norberto franco cisneros
Date: 3/7/2017 6:15:00 PM
John, thank you for your enlightened comment, would that it could be.