The Ballad of the Gulf of America (The prophecy: water always wins)
As the golden plane cuts through the sky,
O’er waters claimed with a brand-new lie,
A teenage voice declares with cheer:
“The Gulf of America starts right here!”
(The prophecy is in the comments) #poetry #smokeinmirrors
As the golden plane cuts through the sky,
O’er waters claimed with a brand-new lie,
A teenage voice declares with cheer:
“The Gulf of America starts right here!”
(The prophecy is in the comments) #poetry #smokeinmirrors
Comments
The stage is set for something clear—
Not by blade nor bullet’s might,
But folly’s hand and hubris’ height.
And so the dog, and so the show,
A tale of power laid low.
For names are dust, and towers fall,
And tides, in time, reclaim it all.
Now howls a most peculiar tune:
“The king who thought the sea his throne,
Shall learn the tide is not his own.”
A tempest roars, the wires spark,
The networks flicker in the dark.
A deal undone, a reign unwound,
And silent screens make not a sound.
One man tweets, then monetized.
But power’s grip is strange and thin,
A gilded cage to trap within.
The gulf expands, the currents shift,
And storms rise fast when tides are miffed.
Some in awe, some in despair.
A dog and pony, a circus grand,
Smoke and mirrors across the land.
But hush now, listen—what’s that sound?
The hum of towers underground.
A network built on silent schemes,
A web of power, coded dreams.