They sit in chairs, high in office but low in morals,
their tables show the capers of a paper trail that is lit
by more than flames of fire, they burn with people’s
lives lost to avarice, abuse of power, an alter-ego that
professes and stresses while manipulating the minds
of the electorate, to empower the cowering frauds,
who love to disempower, destroying their livings
and still they hear the half truths as gold and the
lies as silver, and make a cross for the dross who
struggle to hide their glee as the free vote for chains.
Muttering behind their fisted hands,
and murmuring voiced their complaints,
and muted applause for a strangled clause,
that moderates a response while killing goes on.
Burbling streams that wear folk down,
and buttering up the cream of influence,
and bartered appeals that threaten children,
through bargaining that weights the loaded die.
Fractured opposition falls infighting,
failing to see the tyrants’ colluding coup,
and frightened the oppressed are grateful for
fragments that fall from the tyrants tasty tables.
Imprisoned, passionate prophets cry for lost chances,
indifference feeding fascist lies and cheating, with
promises of rich rewards and contracts to
shore up their shredding of democracy.