The loss: A slap to his face
He’s now been put in his place
A pandemic let loose
Cooked his own goose
To the world he is a disgrace
He lived in a house made of cards
Inside it he planted petards
Believed his own hype
Blew his own pipe
His support all came from retards
He’s never known such a defeat
His ego no longer in tweet
Flattened, you see
By voter decree
Awarded for conceit and deceit
Status and privilege are gone
Ripped from ol’ “Donald John”
Neither deserved
Neither preserved
It’s what you give to a “Con”.
Since born in my body
my life has been a battlefield
undermined by petards
of unequal feelings ...
I treat my injuries
since time immemorial,
I live in permanent war ...
I survive because I live inwardly
even in the midst of this scenario
so catastrophic ... live poetry ...
poetry saved me
poetry is what gives me
this peace ...!
Asleep, it seemed, on lonely stretch of beach,
wearing toddler’s clothes, life just out of reach;
wretched photo destined to win many awards
while families assaulted by hatred’s petards,
many villains here caused this sorrowed fate,
pinned by vicious manifestations of human hate.