The Narrative

President Obama, disdainful of the Constitution, is going to war with Syria, ignoring the Congress, which alone has the Constitutional right and duty to declare war. Has this completely incompetent White House thought about what happens next? What happens if American bombs set off a region wide conflagration? What happens when, not if, Israel is attacked and responds with force? Not that it matters. The Narrative, spun by the lapdog media, will proclaim every Obama disaster a glorious victory.

The four elite divisions of the Egyptian army, the Amon, the Re, the Ptah and the Sutekh, twenty thousand strong, marched quickly north on the Damascus Road, confident the sub-human Hittites were retreating before the supreme warrior king, the Pharaoh Rameses II. As the Pharaoh and the lead division, the Amon, approached the little Syrian town of Kadesh, Hittite chariots lay hidden in the woods lining the banks of the tiny Orontes River, south of the town. Hours after the Pharaoh and the Amon had passed through, the Re approached Kadesh, all unaware until the Hittite chariots trotted across the shallow Orontes and fell upon them, reducing the Re to flinders, men and chariots streaming north and south on the Damascus Road. After destroying the Re, the Hittites ran north after the trapped Rameses, taking up positions on the hills surrounding the road. Rameses got the Amon turned around and was himself attacked as he sped south. Surrounded, the Amon dying, the Pharaoh escaped in the gathering dark with his palace guard and united with the surviving Ptah and Sutekh. He headed for home, where he erected the still standing Rameseum at Thebes, whose giant carved stone outer walls still, some twenty-eight hundred years later, relate to all who would see, the details of the great Egyptian victory at Kadesh. The point: the Narrative always wins. Whatever happens, the Narrative will insist that Obama won.

 A sluggish stream, the heat of day
In woods the Hittite army lay
The distant drumming of the Re
Announced Mizziri coming
How often do we hear the same
The losing battle, then the claim
The battle won and thus the fame
The lyre softly strumming
It happened always, throughout time
That men, intent on upward climb
Would hear amidst the dirt and grime
The Narrative’s soft humming
The Narrative said it was so
And cast him in a golden glow
The vanquisher of every foe
The plaudits without summing
But can it last, distorting facts
How long lay hidden subtle acts
How long unknown the devil pacts
The man and myth succumbing

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