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The Instrument
Well played Bin Laden. Well played Putin.
You looked at America's history of contradictions and read the implications like notes.
She; your familiar instrument.
Understanding that she, given a choice - between introspection and response, between fairness and gain, between truth and image - she would resound with pride.
For she has always been a prideful instrument and an instrument of pride.
You played her. Like master musicians. Plucking and pulling her strings. Forcefully, slapping her form - for shock, emphasis, response. At times with a delicate, light, subtle touch - almost unheard, but felt subtly within.
The song - familiar, one she knew.
For it was one she has always sung - at times full throated, at times merely a hum. And as many an intimate, familiar song has done - it touched her core. A prideful, vain woman now is laid bare, having been played loud for all to hear.
And now, warm, open, she is passed to Trump. He, has no regards for the instrument - but the notes, the notes, he knows resoundingly.
She will not be played subtly.
Her song to become a fervent scream.
The swan song begins.
