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except for all the others.

The slow beasts of expediency are slouching and lurching
east of the western sea, waiting for their christos, anointed one to
trot home after the votes are totted and they have rebuilt Rome,
in their dutiful stable, and the dreadful norm can continue

A beautiful ugliness is borne by that country both wide, great
and filled with love, heinous hate, vitriol by the black gallon
will float them along for another four years
and the ears of the young will hear the same old song

sung and strung and run along now,
your vote has been cast, your job is done,
the boardrooms are past caring for the millions
of doves undone in the shanty suburbs of the west

A beautiful ugliness is borne by those who have
a vested interest in the status-quo low down
in the pecking order are your every day horrors,
tragedies, piled high by the human tonne,

we have wars to feed, mouths to disappoint,
eyes to burn out,generations to destroy;
we have waited long and hard for our savior to come
and drag the earth down with us, so that we can run

upon the great gathered wrecks of the world
and plant flags, play kings with the things
we called life, yes, yes
A beautiful ugliness is borne by the west

and right, as in might will be as a loner once said
slouching east, to where the willing assemble
to where all those that still know how to tremble
with fear, or wake in the dread night with burning tear,

stare into the stone dark, turning to a new dawn,
petrified, golden and reborn in one image,
one flag, one rationale, one longing
one understanding, one nation the world over,

will forever be at their mercy, come and see:
where a beautiful ugliness is born.

Style / type: 
Free verse
Review Request (Intensity): 
I appreciate moderate constructive criticism
Review Request (Direction): 
How was my language use?
How does this theme appeal to you?
Last few words: 
Some tweaking, half a quote for a title, and the omission of "Washington" - it wasn't his fault.. Elections are an elaborate pantomime aren't they? When you feel powerless, sometimes all you have are words to make you feel better. After listening to yet another dribbling debate on the radio, discussing the relative benefits of the candidates that the poor sods in America have to choose from, who will get to sit on their hopes for another four years - or whatever the hell it is over there. It's the same here, same show, different clowns - don't worry, we still get to retain one thing they will never understand.
Editing stage: 


the wealthy create the illusion of the fight
like a fight..someone wins
someone loses
and the reigns of power
keys to the gold crapper get passed
ruling class rules
the way its always been
run by the illuminati
for the best interest of man the the man initiate
and secret...that wealth
we the ordinary joe will
never feel
kept in our place in the
traces of gov programs
and delved out just
below poverty or worse
to digest

circumstance of birth
or choice of the invite

since the eightes its less
and less
as world wealth is spread
out for greater profits
its not a hidden unknown
women got their rights
the races got freedom
everyone got cable
forty years from now
will be interesting
and I wont be here

but it will be interesting

hell of a good poem
because of the screening
and observations
on most platforms by
especially poet sites
one is careful about
what one writes

Washington owned slaves
long after the independence
paper was signed

im glad U left him out
great white father

I think Trump may get in
be one hell of a party
starting to remind me
of the eighties in some

cold war cranking over
idealism walls and
ideology sweeping
all over..

the powderkeg

thank U!

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