Barmpotocracies
Splendid
possibilities there could be
For social
progress of humanity,
If only folk
didn’t tacitly agree
To
preserving their barmpotocracy.
A state with
a petite-Fuhrer posing
In a suit,
fatigues or clerical garb,
Whose every
perfidious word’s a barb,
Hooking
those who have the formal choosing,
Making
legitimate what’re really crimes,
Seemingly
immunised against remorse,
Sole
navigator of the nation’s course
Through dark
and poisonous political climes.
It can be otherwise,
everyone’s got
A choice;
ourselves or follow the barmpot.
D. A.
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