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Whistling Winds of Winter

A Welsh Witch’s Curse

By Arthur ArmstrongPublished 2 years ago 1 min read
Whistling Winds of Winter
Photo by Slawek K on Unsplash

The whistling winds of winter wail

As frosted flakes fall fast and frail.

Coating the Earth with thick, cold glitter

That amasses itself on the descendants of Hitler.

Working without proper compensation?

Whatever happened to this “great nation”?

There seems to be a high level of greed

That’s long been acceptable with their misdeeds.

But I no longer accept their delusions.

It’s always complaints but never solutions.

They don’t like the truth, it makes them see sense

That would justify our civil defense.

Their choices decided, their fates are all mine.

Since they were the ones who ignored the sign.

I’m sending the whistling winds to wind

Around the deceivers and their bottom line.

Their lies no longer will grow in us slowly

They’ll wither and die, for the pure snow is holy.

It cleanses the Earth and all of the souls

Who’ve been long afflicted by their harmful goals.

No more of their taking but never returning

The time for greed’s ended,

It's for love there is yearning.

It’s time to stop fighting and reach to your neighbor.

For wealthy white men no longer pay for our labor.

They think we’re entitled but they are the ones,

insisting on things that shouldn’t be done.

They reach out their hand, then they pull us in tight,

Then say that they’ll end us, if we put up a fight.

If ever a dreaded and mystical being,

Death comes in the wind with ethereal meaning.

Cutting through lies and avarice alike.

Just like it did when it took the Third Reich.

surreal poetrysocial commentary

About the Creator

Arthur Armstrong

A being of duality, poetic irreverence, and maddening nonsense.

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    Arthur ArmstrongWritten by Arthur Armstrong

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