Pen Brutish Rueben is dead, cold blooded, and dumb
We shall not mourn,
Our first born scribe now buried in their ruins, as many of his likes
Weep not comrades,
Will he speak for himself?
Not again,
Pen Brutish Rueben is dead, cold blooded, and dumb
We shall not mourn,
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Our first born scribe now buried in their ruins, as many of his likes
Weep not comrades,
Will he speak for himself?
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Not again,
The rejoinder master lies on the laps of Delilah’s whom he once denounced
He shook hands with the devil and died
Ruben was not killed with their barrels when he ought to have been dead
He gave himself up willingly
And threw reputation to the mire
The columns of contradicted life condemns conscience
Disparaged pages of Jewish fated hypocrisies
Public circulated ranting at the Rutam House for advantage
Only reprobates, dares to defend these, justifying them in rejoinders
The obvious, we lost him
A consenting silence, the booing of legislators, the shock of commoners
No rejoinders, none till the expiration of his mingle after four years,
If it comes,
It will be weak, supportive of the evil he once decries
We lost him.
A rare obituary for comrade’s compromise
In honour, dishonoured
Gather yourselves together to the head counts
One man is missing again, amongst scrawl’s giants
His price was paid, fully paid
His dignity mellowed for pomp
Ruben,
Trapped by ganger wigs to the tricks of the Pol
Silence demeaning an age long chevron,
Now bowed to the “Yes-man-ship” of intelligential
Is this the manner of a fall?
“Unelected” Ruben,
Scoop the motives when deeds are done
Now, in reiterates, a kiss of betrayal
For $, £, #
Bring us no more juice of their scandals, wrapped around your neck
Reputation!
“Oft got without merit, lost without deserving”
And like the morsel of Esau,
Or the heel of Achilles
He fell headlong to his secret desired lust,
The motivation of his wittiness, “gain”
“Use to be”, delectable most read columnar
The guardian of innocent brave Negro clone,
A tutor to unsoiled zealous journalist
Until his price was determined in the closet of crafters
And as Judas, sold his master and friends the masses
Besmirched Ruben,
Farewell,
From the table of our pride and denouncement,
From the honour of untainted degrees,
From the circle of few men loyal to conscience,
From the gathering of consistent morality,
We bid you farewell,
When the roll call is renewed after this ruin, “sell-outs” shall not be there
Farewell Ruben, enjoy the loots
Farewell
http://www.poemhunter.com/members/mpoems/default.asp?show=poem&poem=29586328
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