Thursday, March 12, 2020

Broken . . .

Just when I thought my little
Empire would never be conquered.
I was invincible.
Went from the frying pan
Right into the fire.
Now I don’t care at all.
I’m one smooth operator,
But standing two feet tall;
Was like some great dictator.

Damn the coffee.
Damn the sugar.
Damn the colonies.
Where’s my future?
What awaits me?
I don’t want to be
Napoleon of broken dreams.

So when I got myself
A taste of that glorious power.
It was intoxicating.
The more I took became
The more that I wanted.
But soon the thrill was gone.
You’ll want to meet your maker.
I’ll pay for what I’ve done
Just like that great dictator.

Could be people like me
Should be alone.
Nothing is ever enough;
Enough for this eccentricity.

It’s said, by nature, that a
Man can become territorial.
And I’ve been known to do it.
Simple offense became
An outright obsession.
I got my just desserts.
Maybe I’ll see you later.
But still it could be worse
Just like that great dictator.

©1997 Raymond M. Jozwiak
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