There’s something visually poetic
about a man sleeping under a shrine
what good will your vanity do you?
what good will your billions do you?
We worship everything from
money to power.
The man in the White House
surely sleeps clutching onto
I’d like to think of him
painted above a fireplace.
Does the picture corrupt itself
with every tweet?
Maybe the orange begins to
tint itself as it rots away.
This is a dangerous assumption.
Believing that there is a soul to be
trapped away in a painting
WHAT GOOD will your vanity do you?
I laugh at all your billions
I laugh at all your power
The institutions created to oppress me and my ancestors will
Ashes to ashes.
Dust to dust.
I ask again.
What good will your shrines do you
When they are nothing but piles of ashes beneath His feet?
What purpose will your vanity serve?
What can billions of ashes buy when everything else is but a pile
Step down from your castle.
Tear down all your shrines.
There will be no peaceful slumber tonight.
Or stay there...
It will be much more poetic to watch
you crash down from high above.