This is a poem I wrote a few days ago about the President. Please tell me how you think it is. Any discussion on it will be appreciated. I think you know where I stand.
Where is the change you spoke of?
Where is the change?
What have you done for our people?
Where is the change?
Maybe change is what we cannot believe in.
Where is the change?
You've changed something?
What is the change?
No, you say, but you will try to make a difference?
What is the change?
You say you're shutting down the prison?
And withdrawling the troops too?
That's a big change you speak of.
Quite a big change.
But what will happen to the people overseas?
Quite a big change.
And what about the prisoners?
You haven't a clue?
Not much has changed.
Well Mr. President, is your change for the better?
Do you believe it is?
I sit there as usual as he dances around my question.
Not much has changed.
You sure did some talking before. People believed you.
Not much has changed.
I put my faith in you,sir. But still it becomes apparent.
Not much has changed.
We put our faith in you Mr. President.
Like Helen Keller to the world.
Blind hope. Blind following.
Maybe not like Keller.
We heard you loud and clear.
Seems like common knowledge that when you're blind
You can't see.
Blurred vision. Clouds before your very eyes.
You don't know which way to go.
We chose our path to follow.
But now I'm thinking more every day.
If we only had more breadcrumbs...
We built our houses on sticks...
We all know what happened then.
The wolf and the witch came along.
Tore down the house. Used the crumbs they picked up as the seasoning.
Our own sticks as the kindling.
And it's us that caused our own untimely deaths.
Nobody to blame but ourselves.
But before we are dead and gone Mr. President, sir.
May we ask but of you one question?
What about the prisoners?
Where will they go?
...So you still have no idea?
Let me give you one before I depart.
Sit down the prisoners somewhere.
Put them in some shockingly nice chairs.
Pardon the pun, if you will.
Call up the Great Barrier Reef.
We're gonna need a hell of alot of sponges.
Or maybe not. Save a penny for your thoughts.
Don't buy sponges.
Just let the detainees fry.
Like chicken in spitting hot oil.
After all, Mr. President
You're people like it that way.
No We Can't
Re: No We Can't
