salto mortale

Hot stuff:

December's rosy-fingered dawn gently
Brushes sleep from his dream-soaked eyes,
But Resolute George wakes up royally pissed,
Roiling with rage, his insides scorched
By a hot and furious furnace, welding
Purpose ever tighter to his heart.

What insult, humiliation or disgrace
Could cast his soul so completely in revenge?
His pain and family’s lust for vengeance
Are hidden under wraps of stately words, yet
Placed before a world transfixed by
Calls for guts and glory in the kingdom
Over breakfast, Sly Ashcroft, who taps into
George’s mind much as he does his phone,
Lays down his counsel to this Prince, this
Leader risen through his family’s honor to
Take his place in hallowed history,
And wield the presidential scepter.

Sly Ashcroft, whose panoptic plan
Seduces hearts and minds through fear,
Waits eagerly for Armageddon when
Saved souls will reign with God above. His
Inner vision colors all he sees with
An impenetrable, opaque shroud of faith.

Sly Ashcroft whispers, "Hold fast,
My Prince, the moment approaches. Our path
Is through strength. Power is manifest and
He who weakens falls behind, will lose the race
To promised land where victory brings acclaim
And legends of leadership are carved in stone. Hold fast!"

Via BigD.