Below, the protest sign made by a trans friend in a city that shall remain nameless. A friend so terrified she is considering moving to Canada.
BLATANTLY POLITICAL
The following poem appeared on Facebook on Sunday, June 15, 2025, the day after Trump's parade down the sparsely lined streets of Washington, DC. It was posted by "One Match." I had to think about that one for a minute, but I believe the name comes from the idea that it takes but a single match to spark a huge conflagration. In this case, a rebellion against tyranny and dictatorship. I immediately copied the poem, knowing it was a "must" for my blog. I urge you to read it carefully, for the USA is rapidly approaching a crisis point. We are in imminent danger of losing the Democracy our forefathers fought for. Our President is thumbing his nose at government "of the people, by the people, for the people." He is ignoring both the Legislative and Judicial branches of the government, acting as if the Constitution did not exist. We cannot stand by and let him do it. And so said the MILLIONS OF PEOPLE across the country who turned out to protest Trump's king-like actions.
Poem posted by One Match:
Once upon a time, there lived an evil man who wanted to be king.
No matter how many times he lied,
how loudly he shouted,
how often he cheated,
how much he stole,
how many enemies he invented—
the people never truly loved him.
So he tried harder.
He threw himself a grand birthday parade.
He ordered the soldiers to march—
not for country,
not for freedom,
but for him.
He wanted uniforms.
Flags.
The thunder of boots.
Not to honor the nation—
but to feed the illusion.
The troops came because they had to.
But their steps were off.
Their faces were blank.
They didn’t march for him.
They marched in quiet defiance.
Still, he imagined crowds.
Adoration.
Loyalty.
Tanks rolled. Fireworks cracked.
History to be rewritten.
But no one came.
And so he saluted—to empty bleachers.
A hollow gesture from a hollow man,
facing row after row of plastic chairs
that mirrored the void inside him.
His kingdom had grown tired.
Tired of the lies.
Tired of the cruelty.
Tired of fear wrapped in flags and sold as strength.
And on that very day—his birthday—they rose.
Mighty.
Unshaken.
Done.
They didn’t rise for vengeance.
They rose for something he could never understand—truth, dignity, and the dream he tried to destroy.
Yes, he had his loyalists—men and women who echoed his every word, not out of love,
but because they were paid to perform.
Just like his wives.
Just like his children.
Bought. Branded. Scripted smiles.
There was no real love.
Not from them.
Not ever.
Not from his mother.
Not from his father.
Not from a single soul.
Only leverage.
Only transactions.
Only power for rent.
And that’s what he became:
A man so hollow, he mistook obedience for love,
and fear for loyalty.
A vessel for power.
A shell for sale.
A soul long gone.
He wanted to be king.
But in the end,
he was just a man—
alone.
unloved.
saluting no one.
Performing for ghosts.
And though he stood there in costume,
wrapped in symbols he never earned,
the people had already moved on.
They rose.
And they kept rising.
In song. In silence. In streets. In spirit.
In every truth spoken, every lie rejected.
In every hand held, every neighbor protected.
In every step that says: He could not break them.
They rose with courage.
They rose with care.
They rose with conviction.
And they could not be stopped.
Because the arc bends when we push.
Because the light breaks through when we stand together.
And no crown forged in cruelty
could stop what’s coming.
✍ One Match
~ * ~
I chose The Sometime Bride for this week's featured book, as, in addition to being a romance, it is the story of the last seven years of Europe's twenty-year battle against a tyrant who was not willing to settle for being "king" of one country but attempted to conquer the world, from Europe to the Mediterranean to Russia. His name? Napoleon Bonaparte.
No comments:
Post a Comment