After the Reign
 

A National Moral Reckoning in Verse

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The despot toiled throughout the night, with fingers gripped while thumbs transmit,

      mumbling hate through phony white teeth, salivating his deceit.

Tapping words into sentences, defying truth, stoking his flock with fear,

         dropping threats, spitting lies, cloaked in sins no honest soul reveres.

The MAGA king, perched wobbling on his crooked, self-crowned throne,

      bloated and blustering, flinging orders, senseless or overblown,

hawking “Teslers” and his crypto from the White House lawn,

      convinced the whole of our government was his to own.

His pinched-up mouth, a puckered anus, rearing-ready set to blow,

      barking “Witch hunt,” “Disgrace,” and “Crooked,” with greatly hyperbole.

His tiny hands stretched by his sides, his impotence reflected,

      while smiling wide he bragged aloud the prejudice he perfected.

The unhinged man’s arrogance ballooned with every passing day,

      claiming Pope, Christ, and God as titles—stolen Divinity in pure blasphemy.

He lied to the people with practiced flair, great deals spun of fantasy,

      and still, as truth pulled the veil from his eyes, he cries to the crowd—the truth is the lie!

In speaking his malicious truths all along, the people mistrusted their ears,

      defending the wickedness they heard, insisting it was all misunderstood.

Yet the burger king, true to form, fulfilled their darkest fears,

      and those too afraid of the onslaught of truth refused to look under the hood.

But the stench of his pathology even seeped into principled gaps,

      until the people choked beneath each corrupt and illegal trap.

No shred of moral breath remains in one who bleeds a country dry

      when he believes that he’s the only one who is allowed to cry.

A practiced business-bankrupter, expertly draining the tax-payer’s purse,

      he shouted “law and order” as his thirty-four counts to grew worse.

He vowed to fight for “common folk” while torching away all aid,

     and tariff money he claimed to reap conveniently to his coffers strayed.

Spending like a madman, claiming “kind donations” the source,

       the wiser saw the strings attached as he gutted the people’s house.

No audit, no accounting soothed the conscience he had scorched,

      For many could smell the truth from the start, his grift was fattening his net-worth.

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But when the people went without their food and medical care cost too much,

    the landfill of lies grew too deep, the burden too heavy to clutch.

They fled to the shadows behind their screens, crying, Where is help? Where is aid?

    and bots from foreign nations slid their lies into the feeds with truth betrayed.

A fire flared as Epstein’s ghost bit at his bloated heels, while Maxwell got a ride.

    and so the eroding tyrant ordered strikes on boats for drugs that vanished with the tide.

A drunkard’s willful ignorance left blood upon the call, with the same blunt force

    the joker cleared a trafficker’s slate in a pardon-stained-bribed reward.

When questioned on his antics of late, a lady reporter met the fossil’s stubby finger

   “Quiet, quiet piggy!” he spat with disdain, the bombast and decay of him lingered.

Her colleagues stood in stunned retreat; no courage rose to meet the weight.

   Left unchallenged, he snapped again, “Are you stupid?”—a coward undone by truth he hates.

The bumbling autocrat, his cabinet corrupt, snubbed the rule of law,

    leaving citizens drowning in dissonance from the duplicity of things they saw.

The media cracked beneath the strain, trading truth for lies and greed,

    for spectacle—half-truths or fiction—paid far better than fulfilling any need.

Meanwhile, beneath the surface of buzz, a tempered chorus stood.

    Quiet forces rose to counter lies and undo what chaos does.

They sifted fact from fallacy, pulling truth from every snare,

    and showed the people what was real beneath the scripted scare.

The people, now aghast when seeing what the fraudulent king had done,

    could not find ways to right the ship that had all but fully sunk.

The nation’s courts, backed to the wall, were forced to test their might,

       to stand against an oppressor's regime or crumble into dirt.

But what becomes of the paranoid king who never earned his crown?

 The orange man who golfed his way through his kingdom’s soured woes.

His taking from the people, of course, must eventually see its end.

 For even zealots drift away when their false god’s fire turns cold.

What defect lives inside a man that grants him such a right

    to claim a nation for himself, yet shun the people’s plight?

To burn their rules and governance and pitch their safety and health?

    No wonder now the mad, fake king lies awake alone at night.

His reign will fall to rust and ash, the empire stripped and bare,

    a nation stumbling through the wreck, its future gasping air.

And who will lift the shattered strands to mend the torn design,

    another grinning predator, or one who walks the line?

And what of those he dragged behind, complicit and angry too?

    What of the ones who chose the hate, the lies, and broken rule?

A country does not mend by luck, nor by forgetting what was done,

    but by holding the responsible to account—choosing courage, one by one.

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