A poem begins with a lump in your throat ~~ Robert Frost



A Concise Biography of Tyranny

Tyranny does not mind starting out small: it is indifferent to scale. It’s
dreams of grandeur are happily rehearsed in a child’s theatre.
There, Tyranny has a full set of tin soldier with which to prepare a
catastrophe. One wears a gas mask: another a metal helmet. Hidden in a
drawer, away from the others, is the drummer whose head has been
blown off.
Tyranny has an awkward adolescence: it’s all arms and legs and hot air. It
talks of keeping the streets clean, while it fills them with a litter of noise.
Tyranny likes to have a hometown—and a small cinema where its faithful
can watch films in the evenings.
Tyrannies learn slowly: it is only in young adulthood that they acquire the
true benefits of decorum. They then possess the ability to carry out their
work like any proper business.
In maturity, Tyranny becomes a bona fide adult—endowed with a fully-
grown body—-behind which it conceals a warehouse of regression.
Tyranny’s regression is simple: an infant’s desire to impose its
omnipotence on the world.
Tyrannies are not good at aging. Tyrannies stay fit on a challenge. The
thrill is lost when all the brave are dead.
Tyranny in old age is never graceful. Surrounded by rusted cars and old
foundries, It is a junk heap of promises
And as in Roman times, its successor was already, years ago, slain.
The mystery is why one finds, time and again, flowers on its grave.

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