Mr. Trump & Mr. Putin (A Couple of Presidents)

He stood before journalists, bold and tall,
And promised that the war would quickly fall.
“Give me just a day, no more than that,
And peace will reign where once the cannons spat.”

No endless talks, no years of bloody strives,
Just twenty-four short hours to change their lives.
But as the clocks ticked on, the world still burned,
The tanks rolled forth, and no one returned.

For wars are not undone by simple speech,
Or promises too far for hands to reach.
The people waited, eyes still full of dreams,
While he sat tangled in impossible schemes.

The twenty-four hours came and went,
The bombs still fell, the earth was rent,
The promise broken, the hope misspent.
(A silent testament to his whim.
The war raged on, a bloody, grim
Reminder of words, empty and thin)

He stays before the map, his gaze alight,
With hunger not for peace, but endless fight.
He gave the order, sent the planes to fly,
To darken every corner of their sky.

He wants it all—each field, each stone, each breath,
A hunger that could only end in death.
No surrender, no peace talks or retreat,
Only ashes at his ruthless feet.

He dreams of flags, of borders redrawn new,
Where none remained to challenge what he knew:
That power was the only law he’d keep,
And none could find a grave too deep to sleep.

“No,” he hisses, “they must all fall,
Every man, woman, and child, I call
For total silence, a funeral pall.”
(A silent testament to his whim.
The war raged on, a bloody, grim
Reminder of words, empty and thin)