(February/'47 / Connecticut, USA)

Dishabille Disarray

They don't get it!
He is their last chance,
To regain some measure of respect.

And those around the world who adore him...
Know of his challenges.
And wish him the very best.
Although what he wishes,
Some folks wish to dismiss.
Without comprehending,
The mess he desires to fix.

And all who live with conflicts fantasize...
Have not a clue,
How close they are...
To complete calamity bordering on demise.

They don't get it!
He is their last chance.
Petty has been their way of life.
Entertained by delusion.
And deceit romanced.
With rose colored glasses...
Worn on cloudy drugged up eyes.

They don't get it!
They...
Not he,
Are the ones despised.
And he is the one that seeks compromise.

He,
Not 'they'...
Has been the one chosen!
To make some sense,
Out of their dishabille disarray.

'Are you talking about our mode of dress, style...
The lack of it?
Or the impression of a leader's appearance?
Or our fading comprehension of what it takes,
To make and sustain greatness? '

All of it needs an uplifted innovative renovation!

User Rating: 5 / 5 ( 0 votes ) 1

Comments (1)

you go i have faith in you