For oour enemies like code pink and other like simple-minded socialists:
Protesters
Look around, don’t dwell long,
Some are good, some are not,
Leave them surely in dust that has no song,
They are surely a miserable heart, a sorry lot.
They hate the good that we all know,
What is good and are not faded,
By those who enslave a dimmer glow,
Everyone for their taste must be jaded,
Fools think they are about being free,
While forcing others to do every awful part,
All the while dare not lend a voice to thee,
Who shatters the myths, truth impart,
Of the state man! That’s it, that’s it!
Roll yourself to the state and quit,
Strength and faith—who needs that cry?
Only every man and woman before we die.
Knows nothing real, only personal treasure,
Follows only shallow feelings and pleasure,
Would take what you earn and do,
To give it over to others who,
Would kill the baby, the old, in perfect form,
Would declare God off limits and a new day,
Would shelter inside their own comfort until the storm,
Destroyed him, for it’s the only sure way,
For one who never looked at real, has to die,
And then surely learn. It must be this way, why?
Surely truth always hurts more than the lie,
In their minds, their stagnant hearts belie,
Their lost souls, a man’s greatest gift,
Their own conscience, a tortured drift.
Dismissed by them who do not see,
Difference between animals, thee and me.
It’s hard to know the lost grasp of the key,
When man turned, lost grasp of being free.
Take solace alone, you poor blind,
Time will take you and life forsake,
You’re a selfish whine, a wisp, a broken vine,
Of dead air, nothing left, shadow of a fake,
You were here? I do not recall. Not so,
You’ve spread your lies; I have come to know,
You were but a scream, a voice, a small part,
Now be gone, goodbye, good riddance, depart.
Andrew Huddleston
Jonesborough, Tennessee
I'm late in responding to you, but we've been busy and I wanted to give the poem my full attention.
Protesters in general are a miserable lot.
[Mr] T