There once was a weak man, who ruled in the west.
He robbed from the poor to feather his nest.
He surrounded himself with sycophants of low calibre.
They lived on the spoils cast down from his ivory tower.
They propped him up, yes men, stroking his ego.
The power corrupted him like his hero Gollum aka Smeagle.
When he opened his mouth, like flies they would gather.
Ears attuned, as eagerly, they awaited his blather.
He shoveled the bulls**t, They swallowed it whole.
It filled the empty space, that had once housed their soul.
Filled with his wisdom though they did not understand.
They rushed to deliver his message across the whole land.
They browbeat into submission, those who denied his will.
Forcing their unwilling compliance with his new dawn of Hell.
The peons grew angry, they could see he was mad.
He gave them nothing, taking all that they had.
He grew condescending, telling them to be happy.
He strove ever harder to turn their lives crappy.
As he grew more self-serving his grip on reality declined.
He stumbled into senility, quickly losing his mind.
The Succubus in his retinue, Pushed him out of his tower.
Kamala “The Witch of the West” quickly seized power.
Nothing has changed, we the people still bleed.
Ruled by an old harridan, wantonly fulfilling her needs.
D.L. Crockett — 7/14/22