NovPoWriMo 17

We are running out of time
For destruction to serve
As the order of the day

Soon there will be no one left
Dead set on distracting
From the man behind the curtain

Pulling strings and pushing
Toy buttons to display the fearsome
Image of pancaked power

Rearranging deck chairs on a boat
That was never intended
To float or even steadily sink

The adults are in the next room
Waiting for the tantrum to cease
Having given up hope of self-soothing

The truth will out as a matter of course
Let those with ears to hear listen
Everyone else chose sheer cowardice