Passing time as a planet withers...
slowly,
and impostors slink off,
unnoticed among
the churning of lies;
the endless accusations
are singing canaries,
to hide the toxin beneath--
red on black.
When peasants grow restless,
stifle dissent
with an ace of distraction
and a prayer
to the forsaken god who still dominates
the "free nation,"
and still begets the world
with genocide; war,
in his peaceful name.
Flip over the same cards again,
reusing excuses,
repeating like a parrot;
a record turning, turning,
until another ace
surfaces,
another scapegoat to occupy attention
as we count down the days--
stark numbers of a solitary office.
Singed eyebrows mean nothing
to a king behind a mask
of indifference; the mind beneath
in ignorance.
Both wounds and knowledge--
superficial
as the shredded corners
or worn-away paint
of playing cards.
As they see the end of your game,
throw in a red seven;
a few final cards of your legacy
in the deck,
unnoticed in their thrill
of a new coronation...
put wallpaper over the mildew,
and let them discover
the dry rot.
And congratulations.
In your tangled adhesive lies
binding decayed promises,
you have learned how to kill
both time and troops,
in the game...
Patience.
Honorable mention
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