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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Death · #1750070
The ulimate end To nobody's friend
The Politicians Fate


Congress is a place,
Where some find disgrace;
Some come there, ready to think,
Some leave there, full of stink.

If this is the place that you choose
To gain power, stature, and fame;
You'll not win, You'll only lose,
Surely finding sorrow, pity, and shame.

Stealing our money
Has never been funny.
There can't be any good reason
To commit such shameful, dastardly treason.

The die is set,
My vote has been cast;
You've cheated and lied,
About your past.

You've sold your soul
For a few lumps of coal;
No more votes cast with dread,
No more pardons,

NOW YOU'RE DEAD

*Smirk*


LeBuert Feb 2011
© Copyright 2011 LeBuert (brucet at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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