Tyrants Walk
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Tyrants Walk
What shall I feed my children?
The garden is empty,
the plants have been pulled up.
The dog, we ate already.
There are no rats in the traps.
Instead, they live in the palace,
where the fence is live wire,
and the guns shoot the chickens,
begging for scraps or seed.
People that know no hunger,
and have never known pain,
can not decide for me or you,
what is to be gained.
By losing the very boundaries...
of our nation,
giving room for the wild to roam,
will do more not less,
toward bringing about
the beginning of the end.
Revelations re-read,
and sadly re-written,
a sin to be paid for at the gate.
The fate of the marked,
and the willingness to sell early...
for the right price,
to grow readily the wealth,
of momentary desire.
Buying the country for a price,
sold to the highest bidder,
retaking the house that belongs...
not to them, but to the people,
by crazy undead, living beyond the grave,
vicariously alive through
the body parts of the young...
stolen in the night,
children of another faith.
Are you tall, are you short?
What color is your skin?
Is the material you are made of...
useful?
Are there too many of you?
Creepy governments lending a hand,
terrorists worshiped for their leadership skills,
in killing the young and innocent.
Stop the insanity of Orwell's predictions,
the flood too great for the dam.
Yell out,
wolves among sheep,
riddles in the dark,
New York City Park,
The scarecrow screams,
"Hark!"
"Who goes there?"
The devil has appeared in plain sight,
it is time to fight, it is too late to flee.
There is nowhere to go.
Copyright © Ann Foster | Year Posted 2020
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