Tds Poem by Tor Magnor Solvang

A new phrase born of a fervent age,
To map the fury and the rage.
Where policies and words ignite,
A truly deep, divided sight.

Derangement, say the few,
A lens of hatred, ever true.
Supporters watch the constant storm,
And see the criticism form
As far too loud, or quite unhinged,
By passionate dislike impinged.

'He lives, ' they say, 'within your head,
Rent-free, on all the anger fed.'
But critics call the label slight,
A way to stifle what is right.

They deem the anger measured, keen,
To chaotic acts upon the scene.
Not madness, but a deep concern,
That makes the heated rhetoric burn.

From earlier, the Bush-era ghost,
A new, adapted, modern host.
A 'syndrome' named in political strife,
That shadows daily public life.

With research acts in halls of power,
It blooms within the current hour.
Not found in any doctor's guide,
But used by those on either side.

A symptom of the fractured view,
Where every action feels untrue
To one, while championed by the next,
A nation's deeply troubled text.