The Receptive Mode

TheMagicRealist.com

What foul fruit from a tree with a hard-rugged face
In a garden somewhere in some long ago now.
As did God command each to ignore the damned snake
Nonetheless weeping willows weep for woman’s sake
In a present-day Eden above the world’s brow.
Let it be that ‘deplorables’ win the big race.

One would think we are cattle, yet that’s not our name
As we listen to talking heads blither with ease
Of just what might be happening and keeping score
In a game that’s eluded us forever more
It’s about time this nation got down on its knees
But to praise NOT the incoming master of fame

Am I bitter this time?  Not at all.  Should I be?
I spoke my hand correctly and played by the game
I am thankful this nation has spoken its mind
I’m reminded I’ll always be part of a ‘kind
I’ve been told to go back to where once my kind came
Well, we’re all poised to do that because of that tree.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.