Red Marbles

We have a magician in the White House, a mesmerize, a sleight of hand artist. He is in the process of sawing the country in half, and the audience oohs and ahhs. Barack Obama is a ghostly figure, the product of the teachings of his Communist parents, and every move he makes, every word he utters, is designed to advance the dream of his parents that the United States be destroyed. He played with marbles as a child, and all the marbles were red.

Borne by mist, ethereal
The drifting figure grins
By inner light the eyes see all to see
Transfigured, permanent, in place|As all about him spins
He knows just what he is, and what he’ll be
Cocooned in Marxist rhetoric
By parents in whose care
He grows into the child in whom they place
Their hopes for the destruction of
The State beyond repair
Their fortunes wrapped up in his handsome face
He had no great distinction
No accomplishment to date
When he became the darling of the Left
And women swooned to touch him
Though with much to indicate
That he was not accomplished, merely deft
On stage he was so brilliant
So accomplished, oh so cool
That no one saw the handlers in the wings
The lighting and the staging
Were enough to make a fool
Of all who would not see the puppet strings
And so he gained the mountain
Stood atop the world to find
That what his parents loathed lay at his feet
And dutiful a son he was
Attentive, warm and kind
So saying, our destruction’s near complete
Obama dons his makeup
Dons his tux and snaps his cuff
Top hat a rakish angle on his head
He enters from stage left and hopes
The mist is thick enough
To hide the fact the rabbit is now dead


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