Good Guys Finish Last
They walk the path, so straight, so true,
Giving their all in all they do.
While others climb on broken trust,
The good guys stand, though ground to dust.
Their hearts are pure, their word a bond,
Yet life moves fast and looks beyond.
But in the end, when all is done,
The race they lost was never won.
For good is timeless, it doesn’t fade,
A mark on hearts, a life well laid.
And though they’re last, their light will stay,
When fleeting fame has passed away.
I was hoping NF would learn from the ending of Material Girl that:
Money, Fame and Power are not important.
What is important is how you treat people. Even the broken and impoverished drug addicts on the street.
Donald Trump is a rich, famous and powerful man but, he is a man who wants to be served instead of serving others.
Voices in the Storm
Red hats rise in fervent cries,
A dream proclaimed, a nation’s ties.
MAGA marches, flags held high,
Promises cast beneath the sky.
But in the shadows, another beat,
Voices rise, unbowed, unbeat.
Pussy Riot, with fire and art,
A rebel’s cry, a nation’s heart.
Two worlds clash, their truths collide,
One seeks walls, the other defies.
Freedom’s thread stretched tight and thin,
A battle fought both out and in.
What is power? What is peace?
When will the wars of voices cease?
In every chant, in every roar,
A question lingers—what’s it for?
Beneath the slogans, beyond the fight,
Lies the hope for wrongs made right.
For even in chaos, seeds can grow,
And the light of truth begins to show.
Trump History X
A nation torn, red threads and blue,
A fractured mirror reflecting truth.
Promises shouted, walls held high,
Dreams deferred beneath the sky.
In streets of rage, the flags collide,
History’s wounds laid bare, worldwide.
The past a shadow, a warning sign,
Yet cycles repeat, a fatal line.
Rhetoric burns, division sows,
From anger’s seed, the hatred grows.
But within the ashes, embers gleam,
A chance to rise, to build the dream.
The lessons linger, the scars remain,
A heavy price, a nation’s pain.
But only through truth can healing start,
By breaking the chains that bind the heart.
Trump History X, a tale retold,
Of power, of pride, of truths too cold.
Yet through the storm, a question stays:
Can love outlast our darkest days?
God Emperor Trump
Upon a throne of gilded might,
He casts his gaze, both day and night.
A name proclaimed, a banner flown,
A kingdom forged, a world his own.
The voices rise in loyal cheer,
A fiery reign, both far and near.
With golden words and iron decree,
He molds the land, his legacy.
Yet power’s flame, though fierce it burns,
To ash and dust, all things return.
The empire built on shifting sand,
Will face the winds of time’s command.
Oh, God Emperor, bold and grand,
A ruler’s fate is in his hand.
But history watches, silent, still—
For power bends to the people’s will.