Power Poem by Paul Frederick

It's a Piccadilly circus in order
A neat entourage
March to the tune
The sound of the tribune
The commander's headache
A mild matchmake
Duty my beauty
Finish by the time I'm done
What's conformity?
Uniformity?
Now the music
Dance or trance
I have no problems
Cure's a squadron
Sooth that tendon
Don't come near
Presidents don't come cheap
Through heaven's peep
Direct my ways
You are a consequence
Does he eat waffles?
Distinguished by roses
Poses of a thousands sands
Benign bands
Who's the enemy
A dissident not understood
Then again
The pain
My course of action
The visible fraction
I have a thousand troops
Teamed in groups
Just when you least think
Outdone the flank
What to do?
To make me you
Did you enroll for the babes?
A hundred maybes
Blood runs deep
My soul to keep
So who's agenda rules
Ten mules
The prince
The pinch
What's power?
If I can't see the parade?
Tattle drums
Crib hums
They slaughtered the prince
But he had a story though
Is it fair in war?
Peace for a few?
Yet the dastard prophecy
Leaving behind the pebble
We need the nippers
and the cribbers
The president's health is back
Keep the track
Something for my commander
A chrysanth wonder