"Vote For Me" - Bahamas AI Art
©A. Derek Catalano
Politics is a Dirty Game
The lights are on, the cameras gleam,
Upon the stage of power’s dream.
A hopeful face, a tailored suit,
Preparing for the bitter root.
They speak of change, of cleaner ways,
To usher in bright, better days.
They wave the flag and quote the creed,
And plant the brightly painted seed.
But listen close, beyond the sound,
Where truth is lost and faith unbound,
For in this realm of high acclaim,
Politics is a dirty game.
The platforms built on shifting sand,
A promise made throughout the land.
To tax the rich, to feed the poor,
Then close and lock the chamber door.
The manifestos, crisp and new,
Are broken vows, by me and you.
The lobbyist with velvet tread,
Whispers the words that must be said.
The wealthy donor’s silent plea,
A cheque for vast immunity.
The laws are bent, the rules are swayed,
For those whose fortunes are well-made.
The public trust, a fading flame,
Politics is a dirty game.
The headlines scream, the papers lie,
A swift assault beneath the sky.
They dredge the past, dissect the flaw,
Ignoring reason, bending law.
The character assassinated,
A reputation lacerated.
The subtle smear, the pointed jest,
To put a rival to the test.
No courtesy, no honest fight,
Just endless shadows in the night.
The whispers spread from tongue to tongue,
A sordid ballad sadly sung.
They name the guilt, they shout the shame,
Politics is a dirty game.
The party lines are sharply drawn,
From chilly dusk till weary dawn.
A rigid whip, a forced accord,
Ignoring what the heart deplored.
The compromise is weak and thin,
To let expediency creep in.
The principle they once held dear,
Submits to pressure, born of fear.
To lose the seat, to lose the prize,
To meet the cold, condemning eyes.
They trade their conscience for a vote,
A hollow sound within the throat.
They play the pawn within the frame,
Politics is a dirty game.
The endless cycle starts again,
The hopeful rise, the bitter pain.
The honest few who try to mend,
Find foes around them 'til the end.
For idealism cannot thrive,
Where only cunning keeps alive.
The weary voters cast their lot,
Accepting that the truth is not
A simple thing of black and white,
But murky shades throughout the night.
We choose the lesser of the woes,
And watch the same old system close.
For power sought is rarely tame,
Politics is a dirty game.
So when you hear the rhetoric bold,
And see the stories being told,
Remember what the theatre hides,
The unseen currents, powerful tides.
The deals in smoke-filled, private rooms,
Where bright hope quickly finds its tombs.
The bitter truth we must accept,
While all the sleeping nation slept:
This striving for the highest place,
Will always leave a painful trace.
It sullies honour, praise, and fame,
Politics is a dirty game.
Upon the stage of power’s dream.
A hopeful face, a tailored suit,
Preparing for the bitter root.
They speak of change, of cleaner ways,
To usher in bright, better days.
They wave the flag and quote the creed,
And plant the brightly painted seed.
But listen close, beyond the sound,
Where truth is lost and faith unbound,
For in this realm of high acclaim,
Politics is a dirty game.
The platforms built on shifting sand,
A promise made throughout the land.
To tax the rich, to feed the poor,
Then close and lock the chamber door.
The manifestos, crisp and new,
Are broken vows, by me and you.
The lobbyist with velvet tread,
Whispers the words that must be said.
The wealthy donor’s silent plea,
A cheque for vast immunity.
The laws are bent, the rules are swayed,
For those whose fortunes are well-made.
The public trust, a fading flame,
Politics is a dirty game.
The headlines scream, the papers lie,
A swift assault beneath the sky.
They dredge the past, dissect the flaw,
Ignoring reason, bending law.
The character assassinated,
A reputation lacerated.
The subtle smear, the pointed jest,
To put a rival to the test.
No courtesy, no honest fight,
Just endless shadows in the night.
The whispers spread from tongue to tongue,
A sordid ballad sadly sung.
They name the guilt, they shout the shame,
Politics is a dirty game.
The party lines are sharply drawn,
From chilly dusk till weary dawn.
A rigid whip, a forced accord,
Ignoring what the heart deplored.
The compromise is weak and thin,
To let expediency creep in.
The principle they once held dear,
Submits to pressure, born of fear.
To lose the seat, to lose the prize,
To meet the cold, condemning eyes.
They trade their conscience for a vote,
A hollow sound within the throat.
They play the pawn within the frame,
Politics is a dirty game.
The endless cycle starts again,
The hopeful rise, the bitter pain.
The honest few who try to mend,
Find foes around them 'til the end.
For idealism cannot thrive,
Where only cunning keeps alive.
The weary voters cast their lot,
Accepting that the truth is not
A simple thing of black and white,
But murky shades throughout the night.
We choose the lesser of the woes,
And watch the same old system close.
For power sought is rarely tame,
Politics is a dirty game.
So when you hear the rhetoric bold,
And see the stories being told,
Remember what the theatre hides,
The unseen currents, powerful tides.
The deals in smoke-filled, private rooms,
Where bright hope quickly finds its tombs.
The bitter truth we must accept,
While all the sleeping nation slept:
This striving for the highest place,
Will always leave a painful trace.
It sullies honour, praise, and fame,
Politics is a dirty game.
©A. Derek Catalano/Gemini
