No Frost I

Ok, so we can probably rule out me being the reincarnation of Robert Frost, who died 15 months before I was born.

There is an upcoming anthology, a two-parter, entitled Trumpocalypse and Trumptopia. I missed the deadline for the former but submitted a poem for the latter. It was declined because it would have been better for the first volume but it was too late for it to be included.

So I figured I would just drop this here and let you decide if my career as a poet should end at one.

 

KEK WILLS IT!

 

By Richard Paolinelli

 

 

 

An intrepid pilgrim was I, venturing across this great land;

My destination a wondrous city, not far from a great blue sea.

I had last beheld the glorious sight with much younger eyes;

And now I could only guess that which my older sight would now see.

 

For so very long it had stood for values and principles most high;

Of the greatness of all and the immeasurable value of even the lowest one.

A brilliant beacon it was that shone clear and bright around the globe;

Calling out to all humanity no matter from where, promising not to shun.

 

Yet, as the years and decades passed by the luster began to fade;

Tarnished and dimmed by lesser men’s lust for power and their greed.

Until finally the shining city by the sea became cloaked in darkness;

A place that now openly celebrated an immoral man or woman’s misdeed.

 

But then came a man, who gilded himself with self-aggrandizement and fine gold;

Still he gave hope to all of the people, though exactly how is beyond my ken.

He spoke no words of specificity, offered no detail and set no promises in stone;

Yet they were happy to hear from him nothing other than making them great again.

 

Then came the day when the people’s new hero rose to take the sacred “crown”;

Taking his place within the sacred great room of the people’s house of white.

Many, both within the city and the great land beyond, began to rejoice;

For now, at long last after all the grim years, everything was going to be alright.

 

Thus was the state of the land when I arrived in the great shining city by the sea;

To see for myself if the path ahead led to a sweet heaven or a living hell.

At first the city seemed to be little changed from the one seated in my memory;

With each step I took within its confines I began to believe all is truly well.

 

Yet here and there I caught a whispered word, a cautionary tale being shared;

Of evil thoughts, vile deeds and conspiracies with former enemies of old.

Of money quietly exchanged under the cloak of night and laws circumvented;

Of loyalties betrayed and foul plots where any man can be bought and sold.

 

In response to the onslaught of grim charges the people merely shrug and dismiss;

In their hearts and minds they judge them to be baseless slander and lie.

They speak of one called “Pepe” and another called “Kek”, in loving terms;

They see no reason that the name of “Kekistan” to the land they should apply.

 

Such is the state of their joy, their rush to embrace their new destiny;

That they no longer identify as “We The People”, they are now “We The Covfefe.”

All the words that put such fear and sorrow into the hearts of the disgruntled few;

Are perfectly clear and understandable, I am told, to those who can truly see.

 

At length, among statues of a green frog, I encountered a man once honorable and true;

A man who now served the great leader, tasked to speak his words to the people outside.

He would take me to see his master in the oval room within the walls of the great house;

There I could see the truth of it all for myself and any concern of mine would subside.

 

As quiet as a church mouse I followed my new friend inside to the oval room;

Then the man of the hour arrived in a strange sort of gilded-golden orange glow.

In only a few short moments within his presence I was greatly shocked to find;

That, save for myself, all of the others in the room had prostrated themselves low.

 

Then my spokesman guide arose from one bent knee and approached his master;

Leaning close with eyes downcast, he asked what words he should speak this day.

“The Covfefe wanted back the jobs that had long ago left for other lands;”

“They’ll come back by the millions”, the master replied, “this much I can say.”

 

“The Covfefe fear the strangers at the gate, especially those that bring with them hate;”

“They want to know the bad will be kept out, that it is safe to go to the mall.”

“Tell them,” the master said, “that no one knows better than me how to keep them safe.”

“We will build a great barrier to keep out the terror, it will be bigly, that wall.”

 

“The Covfefe wonder,” the spokesman inquired, “if your heart remains true;

“How can it be pure, when you reach out in friendship to one sworn to defeat us.”

“Their concerns are unfounded,” the master scoffed, “There is nothing there;

“By the way, look at these hands, none bigger ever on one that was POTUS.”

 

Without another word the spokesman slowly turned away from his master;

He made his way to the curtained balcony and parted the drape without trepidation.

“Kek wills it!” he bellowed, and just those words only, to the Covfefe outside;

“Kek wills it!” the myriad Covfefe gathered below screamed back in rapturous adulation.

 

I slowly slipped away from the room in dismay, quickly departing the once great house;

To return to my homelands, this was my only thought, this place now become a phobia.

And when returned home from my journey, my neighbors asked what I had found;

All I could say was the Covfefe had chosen the wrong name, it was clearly Trumptopia.

 

 

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