As the night creeps in,
Smoke from London's hearths descend,
Swirling - dancing with the fog,
Haloing gaslights with a thickened haze,
It's been several years ago,
When the full moon was bloated
For three nights, it hung low and bright
With a tinge of red on its final aspect
I saw her. God help me, I saw her.
At first, I thought it was some terrible dream,
Paralysis prevented me from screaming,
As my chest heaved from the weight of this hag
It's getting dark. Is that a distant rumble?
I'm getting goose-bumps from the prospect of thunder.
Did the temperature drop? It suddenly got cold.
For what time I have left, it's hard to be bold
By T.L. Coston
Ah, who is this stranger staring back at me
An imposter mocking youth and vitality
As the sun kisses the dusk to bid a nights pleasant dream
And Winter's crystalline blanket blinks its pinkish-blue hues
A few leaves cling to a branch in reverent stubbornness
While a gust of wind whistles through its wooden chimes
Come over here, son.
There are things that have to be done,
For my time is near,
And I have to make clear,
Four years we witnessed the persecution of a man and his family
Four years of lies and deceit from unrelenting Democratic enemies.
Four years of sabotage from D.C. bureaucrats
Four years of backstabbing from Republican politicians.
Oh, what great joy in Mordor, D.C.
The Swamp was extra bubbly today.
For a coronation at their Festival of Thieves.
They installed a president without shame
I can't believe what I've just seen.
The physical capabilities can't be;
Logic defies what I saw,
But I know what I did see.