Somewhere a man is ranting
a man used to power and mad
with it. He is the one he loves
so how can others resist, deny
fail to carry out his sacred wishes?
Somewhere a man is denouncing
the world that is—because it doesn’t
reflect him, doesn’t serve him
any longer. He is at his most
dangerous as the power he
is used to slips away in winds
of change like lifting smog.
The man is furious with every
one including his cohorts: they
didn’t do enough for him. They
are useless scarecrows now.
We want him gone but he isn’t.
What more damage will he
manage in the storm of death
in which he’s imprisoned us?
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