The Demagogues

From thenceforth
I will call them
The Demagogues,
A party that has existed
Mainly to bask in its ego
And to smear as a rule
Its rivals,
A party that has been wrong
Since 1829,
And which sneered at all attempts 
To heal the rifts that shattered and splintered
A house,
Which housed the first openly
White supremacist,
Which boasted its new deal
But won prosperity 
Through the bloody old deal
Of war,
That unpopular bastard
Son
Father
And grandfather
Of the nation,
Which dropped not one but two
Of the most desperate and heinous bombs
In world history
And has never once been called to account for it,
Which took as a party platform
The identity of a schoolyard bully
Gleefully smirking
And calling names,
Which stoked unrest
And twiddled while the flames burst,
Which cried for four long years 
The election was stolen,
And then sat there assuring us
For four days of unprecedence
That no such possibility 
Could have occurred again,
Despite failing to produce
Any conclusive evidence
Despite four long years
Of shrieking it to the four winds,
Which is so afraid of opposition
It has regularly taken
To foreseeing the death of its rivals,
Which takes the moral high ground
And yet cannot boast of any lasting success,
Instead lamenting it never happened,
Which cannot, cannot douse the flame
Of patriots,
Of radicals,
Of miscreants
And malcontents 
And whatever else abuse you can muster,
True and false,
A silence that history cannot abide
And will not tolerate,
And will not grant them,
Unless we truly have reached
The end of history,
And an empire that never existed
Is conquered by barbarians we welcomed
With open arms
In our very midst,
At last admitting it was us all along,
A tragic and failed experiment,
A bitter lament,
A whispered woe,
A dream from which we finally
Awoke.

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