Poetry
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The United States can’t endure the Trump Regime. I fear that the hour is too late. I think the country is lost. I have hope the West Coast may forge a new path into the future. I can’t begin to imagine the cost. It was always an empire’s fate.
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Cold hardscapes that puddle rains, Thunderous machines we daren’t tame. Outside crashes in. Novel firsts then hellish norms, Shame on us who ne’er brave storms. Inside rushes out. Grotesque statues ‘dorn the streets, Halls of staff those most gilded feats. Outside rushes in. Spending days down at the lake, Evading thoughts we ne’er spake. Inside
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If there is a hellif it is here and therein the air around usand the earth below us Then there is also a heavenit too is here and therein air around usand stars above us
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War’s a history of the poorDying over drunk disputes of the lordsBodies turned to food for the worms in the floors of the forestsAt its core it’s death to the souls God adores Faint whispers of a kid in a freeze with stolen bootsJust a prayer to eludeUnder cover of night, until his dawn starts
Tony Chiado 