A Dictators Thoughts 

I speak like a demon,

But dress like a Mormon,

Layered like an onion,

I establish my dominion,

The least suspecting multitudes,

Tear as I disrobe them of their attitudes,

A breathe of fresh air,

Shoved down your windpipe without a care,

Like a sweet and sour dish,

Oh how I wish,

I could be either or,

But from me, the world requires more,

For there to be order,

One must end their suspicious brother,

The one lurking , skulking and scheming,

The one you consider not worth redeeming,

They say I dictate,

That I do it from pure hate,

That I was sired by hell’s flames,

The reason they can never call me by name,

Like he who shall not me named,

My story is made legend and famed,

By children dancing around the fire,

Hoping they too shall sire,

The lust for blood and power,

For they would rather that than cower,

They would rather slaughter and rule,

Than end up the mule.

Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

Photo by Stuart Miles. Published on 02 September 2016
On fredigitalphotos.net – Image ID: 100460011

 

 

 

 

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