A War on Very Bad
(From The Triumph of Strife: an homage to Dante Alighieri and Percy Shelley)

A "war" on "Very Bad" he once declared
This man who had in no war ever fought
So, not surprisingly, he badly fared

As nothing went the way he first had thought
The cowboy movies that he had imbibed
And Batman comic vengeance that he sought

Conspired to leave him curbed and circumscribed
As bats who hang in real caves upside down
See better blind than all the ones he bribed

To tell him "yes" and never make him frown
With facts and truth he wished to have no truck
His GAWD he said, had placed on him a crown

Which he believed left room to pass the buck
Forever "upward" to The Dumbest Cluck

For what Celestial Fowl would crow out loud
About anointing such an oblong egg
Its progeny and chicken spokesman proud?

To chirp cheap lies and every question beg
He pecks at straw men with red-herrings fished
From slander sewers dredged to their last dreg

For falsehoods "proving" any thing he wished
Ad hominem non-sequiturs refined
From dirt dug up and none of it undished

The soiling smear in which he soaked his mind
Left his defining deity defiled
As "wars" on "Very Bad" turn out unkind

With George's bloody rhetoric, GAWD piled
His work in morgues upon which Satan smiled

Yes, George has told us that he got the word
To do the things he's done from "up above"
Too bad the message somehow slipped and slurred

So that he thinks his hatefulness means love
And bombings of "bad weddings" prove he cares
That GAWD gave him the right to curse and shove

"Democracy" at anyone who dares
To hang himself if that's the only way
To live his life and rule his own affairs

George says that GAWD gave him the right to slay
And throw in prison those that he dislikes
He's learned this from some people in his pay

Who sanctify the targets that he strikes
And seethe at wedding vows for gays and dykes

The "war" on "Very Bad" can have no end
For by design its vague and nameless foe
Can never die or cease to rip and rend

Our peace of mind, no matter where we go
So we must fear what none of us can see
Much less defeat in years that we can know

And since we cannot possibly agree
The fools who foment controversy think
They've found a way to keep us never free

But always deep in debt to their red ink
And shouting matches meant to mask with noise
The "war" on "Very Bad" that leaves a stink

Which George the Worst has found that he enjoys
Because it lets him spend time with the boys

But vague and nebulous as all this seems
To those removed from war upon the ground
In real life where the dying ends the dreams

The victims of King George have heard the sound
Of calls to arms now motivated by
A loathing for him, depthless and profound,

And all that he purports to signify:
A worldwide epidemic of unease,
Revulsion and disgust at those who ply

The tacky trade of tyrants borne to ease
Who've given terror now at last a face,
Surrounded by a court that aims to please.

A once-great nation falters in its pace
And in its "war" on "bad" has won disgrace.

Michael Murry, "The Misfortune Teller," Copyright 2006-2010