Republican Way To Hell? Poem by Tor Magnor Solvang

A giant sleeps, a world away,
And shrugs when shadows start to play.
The watchers blink, they turn their eyes,
As anger builds beneath the skies.

The giant's hand, once strong and true,
Now points a finger, at me and you.
Declares us flawed, a threat, a foe,
And seeds of discord start to grow.

The world now waits, with bated breath,
For slumber's end, or chilling death.
For if the giant will not see,
What dreadful fate awaits for thee?

A choice is ours, a stand to make,
Before the final trumpet's wake.
To rise as one, and break the spell,
Or march together, into hell.