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Dec 09, 2023
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Rhetoric
Volumes of thought race through
double tongued lips.
Communique sport a ravishing
trip.
Up with conundrum a rhetorical
script.
Old school poitics forgotten long
since.
But the river is rising up over it's
banks.
And soon all will know desolations
foul stench!
So bring us your poor, your weak and
your masses.
We'll dash them to pieces with the
words that we speak!
About This Poem
Last Few Words: Politics as usual. Sorry about the puctuation I hope that the meaning is understood.
Review Request Direction:
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Editing Stage: Editing - rough draft
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neopoet
1 year 7 months ago
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