Submission, It's Futile

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Angry Poem.

Submitted: May 20, 2010

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Submitted: May 20, 2010

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He raises his hand while sitting on his throne,
who is to say that he's a clone, or a drone?
Well, that someone is me,
and he is about to see--
not only power, but destruction.
Too bad, it's his first production,
and sad it is indeed his last,
and he cannot look to the past,
for any advice
because he's the vice.

Who is truly in control?
Is it the king or the creole?
What is it that we call free will?
Do we have it or was it killed?
Perhaps, and perhaps not,
think what you want, but don't get caught.
The end is now near ,
and he's got to fear
everything, and anything, it's all up to this:
what you do, how many you do, and whose ass you kiss.


© Copyright 2017 Tim Leo Spence. All rights reserved.