He lumbers forth, an obscene myth,
Truth gagged beneath his gluttoned pith.
A plodding gait, a sneering stare
The crowd exalts his vacant air.
He speaks in slogans, not in sense,
Each lie a brick in ignorance.
The sheep applaud, their minds on lease,
Their souls exchanged for false release.
The sky turns static, facts decay,
The clocks strike thirteen every day.
He sneers decree, they call it law,
While reason gnaws its bleeding jaw.
The Ministry of Truth rewrites
The past in glowing orange lights.
The Ogre grins, the masses cheer
Their thoughts erased, doubts unclear.
He points, they pounce. He sneers, they kneel.
Their hearts adorned with black appeal.
They wear his name like sacred thread,
While truth lies bleeding, left for dead.
Yet somewhere deep beneath the din,
A whisper stirs, a rebel grin.
A pen is raised, a voice is born
To mock the crown, to scream the scorn.
For in the shadows, rebels write,
With ink that glows with fury's might.
Through whispered truths the world forgot,
Where lies obscenity, it shall not!
[email protected]
A blatant Call to Arms @ Charlie Kirk's memorial framed a chilling tableau : where grief and martyrdom was used through mass media to amplify loyalty and suppress dissent, potentially laying the groundwork for future public crackdowns on the political opposition?