Tyrant

When reason is on trial and justice bends
until it is the opposite of truth,
and means adjust according to their ends
and theater succeeds the voting booth --
What lies beneath the plastic of your smile,
your practiced adlibs and impromptu rants?
Too generous to call your nature guile;
too dangerous to think adoring chants
are not just what they are. Your acolytes
are eager to accept whatever comes,
as rhetoric descends from lower heights
and rhythmic thumping beats words into drums.
May terror fill your every waking moment,
and sleep desert your bed.  There’s no atonement.