<p style="margin-left: 30px;"><em>Darkness slays the sun. Descending, he dies.</em><br /><em>To hide his glowing countenance and wait;</em><br /><em>Until his resurrection flood our skies</em><br /><em>With promise of a greater solar state.</em></p>
<p>Oh mourn and weep, ye gaining shades of night;<br />An orange sunset lingers in the west.<br />The trumpet sobs a reveille; the light<br />Is dwindling on the presidential fest.<br />And cypresses are sighing in their shame<br />For Orange Man has forfeited his game.</p>
<p>The technocrats and leftists, as a mass<br />Opposed his righteous reign with godless spite.<br />Not once did they relent, but dogged his ass<br />In jackal-packs still slavering to bite.<br />And yet he is deplorably adored,<br />Nor friend nor foe politically bored.</p>
<p>Vile virtue-signalers (with none to show), <br />Despised all those who dared support his plan;<br />And prideful with each whining coward blow<br />Confirmed themselves inferiors to the man.<br />Pink feminists, at odds with all that's right<br />Displayed themselves as pussies in the fight.</p>
<p>They could not stand the mention of his name.<br />The Globalists and other Euro-trash,<br />With Luciferian bankers, void of shame,<br />Resume their one-world plotting in a flash; <br />Preparing for re-set. (We wish they would<br />Let God reset them for their own damn good.)</p>
<p>So DRUMPF's Fourth Reich must sadly reach its end,<br />And Jared's Nazi wife return her shoes.<br />Trump's Völkisch warriors shall no more defend<br />Republics that weak RINOs all refuse;<br />And Milquetoast Mitt, and Bush, his parting hail<br />Grown tired of winning, longing yet to fail</p>
<p> </p>
<p>My Einsatzgruppen uniform: no more<br />To wear the holy garment in my pride.<br />My shimmering hood and robe I now must store;<br />Well-pressed, I lay them tearfully aside.<br />My lynching rope I coil with loving care,<br />My Ku-Klux armband nevermore to wear.</p>
<p>Alas, the fascist father-figure goes;<br />His bigot minions, all my own, lament.<br />Misogynists and racists at the close<br />Have lost their weary way and all is spent.<br />He wasn't dictatorial enough;<br />We all grew tired of winning. It was tough.</p>
<p style="margin-left: 30px;"><em>But wait; a zephyr stirs the orange grove.</em><br /><em>The dusk has not yet sighed its final breath:</em><br /><em>Once more a scent of citrus wafts above . . .</em><br /><em>Twas' premature, their festival of death.</em><br /><em>Then TRUMP arises, grinning, from the bier</em><br /><em>And all who who wished him gone recoil in fear.</em></p>
<p style="margin-left: 30px;"><em>Fresh horror now the adversaries sweeps;</em><br /><em>The trembling crypts foreshadow his rebirth.</em><br /><em>Progressive politics despairs and weeps</em><br /><em>While liberal dread supplants their vengeful mirth.</em><br /><em>Then Donald rises, leering like a ghost</em><br /><em>To fill with panic every heartless host . . . </em></p>
<p>Mere hopium, this horror-movie plot. <br />It looked like he might pull it off— but no.<br />Now darkness teaches light what it is not<br />And half the nation jeers at him to go.<br />Healing urged—but fake. Polarization<br />Shall characterize our waning nation.</p>
<p>Hopes of resurrection vanish with night. <br />The scapegoat's legions waken from the dream<br />To seek nocturnal solace from the fight:<br />The tepid normie water's middle stream.<br />And Q-tard numerologists learn code.<br />(The rest of us just wonder what we're owed.)</p>
<p>Saint Orange must diminish, half impeached;<br />And sunset velvet now becomes his hue.<br />The ballot urns of Georgia never reached;<br />Our judges sat to stifle what we knew.<br />The monoparty's monkeys steal the show;<br />His puppet masters hiss him. Let him go.</p>
<p>And Dixie's juiceless orchards sing his dirge.<br />The willows hang their boughs in leafless grief . . . <br />Disgust for all the traitors starts to surge;<br />And clown-world tries but cannot bring relief.<br />Orange Savior's promise: undelivered<br />The funeral expires—and all is withered.</p>
Orange Man Peeled
- January 05, 2021
- NomadMonad
- 1 Comment
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