President Bush’s Dream - Poem by Charlotte Ballard
Almost heaven, almost hell–
Peace pushed back against the pell.
Summer makes for covered bars
Tender bellies, and crushed root tars.
Speak only silence-
Pray only fact -
The pope is held down.
Unwilling to answer, unable to frown.
Kiss the baby, hold up a flag
Never mind history, it’s time to play tag.
Metal jacketed heros not old enough
To shave, spits out homage to twisted rags.
Regret marred with blood
That never wipes away –
Triggered by anger, and fright that
That home of the brave, and the land of the free
Might only be a whisper, of an ideal
In a muddied man’s hand.
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