The President's Funeral

Arriving slowly and agonizingly like the procession to the next life itself
They pull up to the curb in cars that reflect each and every memory of their greed
In clothes made by the hands of inferiors, led to believe what they thought was the truth
As clean as the water over the thriving grass, clear and white in the morning dew
Reminiscent of human purity that has wrapped itself like a burial shroud over the soul
Like the fog that seeps between every headstone, every crevice of human emotion
That is carved forever in these memorials that fade into each other, all one part
A picture, burned and banned, an outlawed image that anyone with two eyes can see
Should they ever step out from time and into the hollowed grounds of Arlington
Where ghosts patrol in limbo begging for us to remember the consequences of the avarice
That consumes each and every of our spirits piece by piece, parasites that eat our hearts
As we sit and complain and then turn off the television in dismay, going on with our lives
Acting as if it's okay that the daily departure of innocents from this world is acceptable
On the grounds that we have no ability to act, our throats slit in unison by corruption
Scarred into submission by the tears we each shed for the fallen in our own lives
Living the lies that we are led to believe every day, breathing in the smoke that kills

Has the world merely forgotten the sacrifice accepted dutifully by so many
They have paid the debt owed for the greed of their leaders in blood, not money
And yet, it is only a concern if it is a powerful name, not a random being, now dead
Because of the very debts their instructors incurred with their own free will
And so they walk, mouths contentedly silent, to the newly dug burial site of a leader
That had not committed himself to the pledge of infidelity and falsehoods
Who lived for the people, not himself, in times where division ran as thick as blood
But they cannot see this with visions of glory and power dancing in their heads
As they walk over the hill in the moist air, under a sky the color of a tomb
Forgetting the ultimate sacrifice paid by the thousands who lay beneath them
Surrounded by the results of their inconsideration, they still fail to see the truth
That lies drugged behind each and every name etched in eternal stone
Laying silently, submissively, begging for remembrance and compassion, not for images

The ceremony begins as the sky and sun fight for dominance of the heavens
And the life of a true leader is marred by the indelible presence of hypocrisy
As slowly, they proceed to seize the opportunity, stand up and speak, to emblazon ideals
That dwell within their own minds, not in the real vision of the one they represent
Speaking of a peace, of a truth, and of a love that they themselves have forgotten
Proceeding to announce their pledge to freedom and justice, heads held high
Pretending as if they've never bowed before the altar in the temple of impulse
And one by one, they walk over the endless marble inlays as if they were stepping stones
Not the graves that stand as a testament to the dark side of their humanity.