A Tournament of Lies

They all said they loved him.
They all said how consequential he was.
They all said how much he will be missed...

Then the angryu old man, 
clenched fists and clenched teeth, 
they got him in and now they have gotten him out, 
this silent coup, 
to save democracy. 

Now they all love her. 
Now they all cheer for her.
This one, not that one, 
she, who has gotten zero votes, 
no new ideas, 
never answered a serious question, 
at least not without laughing her way to a non-answer.

Over run, in every direction, 
in way over her head, 
constantly chasing unnatainable perfection, 
non concern, better off dead. 

A Tournament of Lies, 
candidate with no votes, 
dangerous leftist ties, 
pre-planned, sterile quotes.

All she does is avoid the press, 
not one question answered, 
never on the record, 
never off the script,
never let them see the truth, 
or look behind that curtain, 
to see the strings, 
that made that tired old man so obediently leave.

These are the defenders of Democracy, 
these lying snakes, circling vultures, 
vocal Idiocracy, 
perfectly armed, deceptive archers.

Then comes the old guard, 
bring out his perfectly cadenced speeches, 
put those signs all over your yard, 
no credibility, blood sucking leeches. 

The old guard has spoken, 
the old man has been replaced, 
appearing merely as a token, 
his legacy erased.

He never saw it coming, 
never prepared for a change, 
blindsided by friends, 
voters ignored, 
back stabbed and left to die, 
crawling off the world stage. 

T. S. Deary 
8/22 - 10/24/24