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HIS Golden Thrown

I'm waiting for my golden chair,
I voted him in for all will share  
The wealth he bleeds must fill our veins;  
Transfuse our country,  
Make our blood green!  
I'm hemorrhaging from all my debt; 
He'll come in and heal my pain, 
For making money is what he does.  
What I don't understand yet:  
Regardless what I want to believe,  
He will create more golden chairs;  
But he will never share.  
They'll be pulled from beneath middle class,  
Moved to his penthouse and plated gold.  
The rich will enjoy more glistening gold,  
The rest of us will be left in the cold.  
   
   
   
***Just to be clear, I did not vote for him, I'm just using that perspective for the poem;).  My ego needed me to clarify.
saraeaton
Written by saraeaton
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