No Kings Day

(This poem offers a different perspective to the idea of the politically charged and sponsored No Kings Day protest of 2025. This poem incorporates true historical and political references—actual events and actions from recent years. It is meant to make the reader think more critically and go beyond the parrot’s echo of the night.)

No Kings Day is what they say,

When their king is not in play.

A king would not allow protest—

Peaceful or violent, he’d disinfest.

A king would not allow debate.

He’d cancel, hide, or evade.

A king would rule, not ask consent;

But bend the law for his intent.

He might hide in shadow, yet so near.

Oracular, inking a law no man could clear.

He’d sign with Autopen, not with his hand,

And pass decrees across the land.

Biden’s hand—or rather, not—

Signed bills when presence he had not.

With Autopen, the act was done,

Though Congress never saw the sun.

And laws stood firm, not questioned deep,

While freedom stirred but dared not leap.

A king would scoff at the highest courts;

Ignore their say as petty sports.

He’d hear their ruling and then defy

Even though they mostly imply.

And when faced with the branches stalled,

He’d smile and wave and act appalled.

And with a smile, he would say,

“If they won’t act, I’ll do it still—at least today.”

A king would rule by fear and chain—

With jabs and cards and masks again.

“Comply,” he’d say, “or stay alone,

No work, no church, no fam, no travel zone.”

And so the mandates came to be,

Not passed by vote, but by policy.

“You shall not work or shop or play,” he’d bark,

“Without this pass or Covid mark.”

He’d silence those who asked too much,

Or dared to say, “This feels unjust.”

With shadow bans and blocked replies,

He’d pluck the truth from public eyes.

As liberty beckoned, a king decried

Liberty’s ring as freedom slowly died.

And with truth’s descent through suppressive lies

The king would rule censorship is wise.

A president—once bold and loud—

Was cast aside, removed, and disavowed.

A martyred man who dared to speak

Of actions, info, and freedom antique.

Targeted by imposters, activist.

Liberty became the king’s antagonist.

Trump’s account was slammed and sealed,

While chaos burned across the field.

Kamala rose—yet cast no flame—

Not one small vote bore forth her name.

But still, she stood with a shining grin.

A queen without the people’s win.

Appointed not by ballot box,

But strategy and party locks.

A king would rule through terror, mob, and flame,

Destroying history’s hallowed name.

Where statues stood, now empty space,

Their faces lost without a trace.

And cities burned—yet most would not speak,

For fear they'd be labeled deplorable, rebellious, and weak.

A king would let the cities fall,

So long as he retained the hall.

He’d turn his back on border cries,

While flights of strangers filled the skies.

He’d ship them forth, not through the gate,

But quietly to every state.

He’d jail his foes with vague pretense,

And claim it's for democracy’s defense.

Process due would shrink and die,

While pundits cheer and others sigh.

He’d teach his flock to scorn dissent,

To shame the one who won't relent.

And in the schools and children's minds,

He’d sow the seeds of “newer” kinds—

Where truth becomes what kings declare,

And questions vanish in thin air.

Superspreaders would be those

Who stand in truth and would oppose.

A king would do much more than these.

He’d let them die who won’t bow to their knees.

He’d bar his rivals from the race,

Remove their names from every place.

"Too dangerous to let them stand,"

He'd claim, with gavel in his hand.

He’d laugh as people bowed and pled,

While freedom wept and justice bled.

For if the vote could cost him power,

He’d shut the booth and praise the hour.

And so the kingdom bends and breaks,

While liberty, in silence, shakes.

For kings do not arise by right—

But when the people dim their light.

As darkness covers and blinds the eye

A flickering light will still brighten the sky.

For kings are douters to the flame

Of Liberty’s torch and freedom’s name.

A king would not allow protest—

Peaceful or violent, he’d disinfest.

A king would silence opposing views

And light the wick to division’s fuse.

No Kings Day is what they say,

When their king is not in play.