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The Last Supper!

The Last Supper!

 

Yared Huluf 10-14-20

 

 

Whilst one is showered

With praises

And gifts made of gold,

For the make believe a cause

Old Isayas is left out in the cold.

A stalking horse, once a useful dark-force now looks a walking corpse

With nothing to hold.

Nor on his behalf nothing to be told.

A dealer no ordinary schlockmeister

In a broad daylight who sold

Pyrrhic victory, awash with Eritrean blood

For filthy rich Arab dealers.

James Bond, Double O Seven,

With a face mark eleven

After roasting the hoi polloi in an oven

With bullets and bombs as side dishes woven

As The Last Supper!

Whilst one is showered

With praises

And gifts made of gold,

For the same make-believe cause

Old Isayas is left out in the cold.

A stalking horse, once a useful dark-force Now looks a walking corpse

With nothing to hold.

Nor on his behalf nothing to be told.

A dealer no ordinary schlockmeister

In a broad daylight who sold

Pyrrhic victory awash with Eritrean blood for filthy rich Arab dealers.

James Bond, Double O Seven,

With a face mark eleven

After roasting the hoi polloi in an oven

With bullets and bombs as side dishes woven

As the Last Supper:

For eternity to remember!

Everyone who partook

Evaporated into a silky smoke.

A feast he felt that paves his way to heaven.

Multitasked double agent

He has no time to lament.

Exterminate camates

who fought next,

Those who shared the same plate,

And Sheltered in the same burrowed cabinet.

All these shenanigans for what you might ask?

The answer my friend

Is blowing in the wind.

He has a sick mind,

Penned with solipsistic bind!

My friend, you, and I,

How hard we might try,

Cannot mend,

Even if we stretch and bend.

 


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