Never thought I would want
A moral majority to stand up,
But with babies being kidnapped
Under the guise
Of biblical bastardizations and
With the sleight of an extremist’s hand,
One that feels authoritarian and oppressive,
Not protective of a democratic republic,
I feel like the pious
Should weigh in
Before freedom of religion
Means only that
Which the Manhattan Monarch
Deems most suitable to “his” cause,
His creation of a god-like persona.
Would that come as a surprise to moral types?
Or are they stitching uniforms for their youth,
Glued to government television,
Reading the propaganda, and
Praying to the one
Making a mockery of their beliefs,
All that their god stood for
The very ideals that His son died for.
“It’s not my job to be the world’s critic.” Jane McGonical
Once upon a time
A great city rose from a marsh.
The men who got things going
Weren’t perfect, but they had the right idea.
Somehow their limited minds,
Where social constructs were concerned,
Gave rise to hope
That all men were, indeed, created equal.
Wherever politics are played,
Players will surely try to game the system.
This city, with its patriotic symbolism,
Monuments to morality, and
Gastric reflux and the thought of compromise
Has fallen into the quagmire of hubris
With little voices speaking plenty of ishk,
Both the evil and unlucky varieties.