Rev. Lord C.M. Bechard

The Clockwork Glitch

Shiny pins and a podium glare,

Selling us oxygen while they pollute the air.

A \"New Deal,\" a \"Great Leap,\" a \"Safety Net\" spread,

But the mesh is too wide and the people aren\'t fed.

It’s a masterclass in the theater of \"soon,\"

Howling promises at a paper-plate moon.

 

Big Gov strikes again. Not with a bang, but a bureaucratic sigh,

Writing checks with the ink of a bold-faced lie.

We’re not shocked anymore; that’s the rot in the bone,

We’ve learned to build shelters on foundations of stone.

It isn’t a tragedy when it happens on cue,

It’s just \"Tuesday\" in a country that’s black, white, and blue.

 

The burnout is heavy, a lead-lined coat,

While the ivory towers keep their heads afloat.

They mistake our silence for \"getting along,\"

But it’s the quiet before the snap of the prong.

Trust is a currency they spent long ago,

On wars we didn\'t start and seeds that won\'t grow.

 

Volatility hums like a live wire in rain,

A nation of millions numb to the pain.

But habit isn\'t justice, and \"usual\" isn\'t right,

The fuse is burning short in the dead of the night.

Keep overpromising. Keep failing the test.

Eventually, the center can’t handle the rest.

 

Something has to give.

Something has to break.

Before the whole damn mountain falls into the lake.