The King of Broken Things

Nobody thought the man could win,

that King of Broken Things,

but he showed his vulgar mind

and gave our demons darker wings.

 

America knew this man was evil

just not to which degree,

but we discovered it oh so quickly

as he destroyed our legacies.

 

The work of greater men,

he claimed them as his own

and sowed the seeds of hate

with a racial undertone

 

He blighted all he touched

from the Senate to the Courts,

destroying our regal sense of justice

while laughing at our retorts.

 

He raised up his cosplay army

and incited them with lies,

so they'd strut around our capitols

with weapons on their thighs.

 

The King mocked our Asian brothers,

laying blame upon their heads

for a virus he ignored

and the thousands he left dead.

 

The King of Broken Things

and his family of gilded fools,

brayed like asses to the masses

and broke our every rule.

 

They ravaged Jacqueline's roses

and partied on our lawn

and populated his cabinet

with greedy low-wit pawns. 

 

He recruited professional liars,

a pantheon of shrews,

who undermined what little faith

America had in modern news.

 

The King ignored respected doctors,

abandoned our nurses at the front,

kicked sand in the face of science,

like a good and proper cunt.

 

But, the King was overwhelmed.

He was living on borrowed time.

His Wall couldn't keep us out

nor hide his many crimes.

 

He learned the sin of tyrants

while sitting in his swamp

that if you make the muck to deep,

it's you the swamp will chomp.

 

He's in his death roll now,

down where it's the darkest

where the sun glows a halo,

and his prayer for hope is starkest.

 

The King has lost his throne.

His croaked lies lose their strength.

His tomorrows are at an end.

His rule has run its length.

 

Like his trademarked pallor though,

a suit of orange his morrow brings.

Let America forget him not,

the King of Broken Things.

This poem is about: 
My country
Our world

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