The Dictator

The voice was loud and clear Whispering when quiet in his ear And it spoke to him of evil things That urged him to do what it brings He heard it at school every day Urging him on in its unusual way Wanting him to hate his father And running for soothing from his mother So he grew to a man with the voice Urging him on with no choice Even when he failed as a painter It grew louder in his head not fainter When finally without further prospects The Great War exploded in effect And he joined the German Army then Going to the front determined his country to defend Near the end of the Great War Gassed and blinded to hospital making war no more The voices started to speak again Telling him the ones at home to blame in the end He was told by the voices he was the one And into the Party he rose up and it had begun Trying once to start a rebellion Ending in prison as a rapscallion In prison he wrote of his struggle as was made The voice dictating his life in his escapade Out of prison he rose to the top As the voices continued to say he couldn’t be stopped Persecute and Conquer were the words he heard And a war he started was the final word At the start victory was his happiness To take on Russia for living space his next quest But things didn’t go to his plan then The winter defeated him in the end But the voice was still his greatest fan it said And the bombs blasted the country away with many dead In ten years you wouldn’t recognise the country the voice did say And so it came to pass but not his way The bombers had the final call Death a bullet and cyanide that’s all And so the voice leaves him now To find a new one to speak of how The world should want to be Dictated to and not be free. © Paul Warren Poetry