To Trump Haters

Hate Mr. Trump — NOT!

Like Dorian Gray,
His picture is almost complete.
It is what he is and will be.
To destroy the portrait will destroy the self.

We are the Sophocles’ of his story.
We pity, not hate, a would be king
Led by his gods and oracles,
To kill his father, marry his mother,
And gash his eyes to blindness.

We are the Shakespeare’s of his story.
We pity, not hate the old king,
Deceived by daughters and judgment,
To wander mad and unseeing in the storm.
A king, prodded by his lady to execute rivals,
The blood of children on their hands.
A noble Moor, tricked by a conspiracy theorist,
To kill his faithful beloved. Out of jealousy.
A prince haunted by the ghost of his father
To vengeance, destroying those he loves most.

Our would-be king is to be pitied, not condemned.
We are the architects of his stage. We are
The chorus of the drama that we helped write.
We endure this story of a pitiful character,
Shaped by our national gods of wealth and success.

Dare we resist the product of our own gods,
Our envy, our greed, our lusts, our injustices?
Dare we move from pity to compassion
Of which the would-be king is incapable?
Dare we write a new story, paint a different portrait?
Perhaps one of forgiveness and redemption?