A good leader needs to be selfless while making decisions for the benefit of others, his subordinates, or the people he’s responsible for. Leaders have the ability to take responsibility for the decisions they make, even baring the brunt of both negative and positive consequences of their actions. They are also compassionate but disciplined, give and take when necessary, and understand within limits of professionalism.
Unfortunately, today’s political leaders fall short of these qualities, as they think in terms of their own power: political and financial.
My poetry book, Perfectly Flawed poetry for change, is available on all eplatforms, including Amazon.com
Life’s dreams of roses and colored glasses Have been assassinated by explosions, Devastation, destruction of homes and gardens, Where flowers and innocence grew. In their place, fog, smog, smoke spew Chocking breaths and arrest hearts that drew Their last drummer’s beat and fell in death’s pew. When will their year of restitution Come to being a realization? When will they experience the exhiliration Of being free without groveling? When will their neighborhoods be overflowing, Rehousing them, others, a community not governing?
Patience, faith, and unity will invariably Win the fray always knowing the end is ‘liberty’ While social development soars accordingly.
On a full moon, the fog enrobes The barren tree branches, One of which holding twin carrion birds Waiting for the opportune moment to pounces.
They watch furtively as ghostly Figures of varying shapes, try To dance around the grand piano’s harmony Of Gothic, suspenseful cacophony
That puts the ghosts in a daze, Floating to and fro, getting closer to the blaze Of screeching, caterwauling cries, phase In and out as new spirits float in a craze
To reach the soul wrenching Sounds of agony, depression, leering, Expecting to be driven to healing From their sweet suffering that’s heart rending.
On a full moon, the fog enrobes The barren tree branches, One of which holding twin carrion birds Waiting for the opportune moment to pounces.
They watch furtively as ghostly Figures of varying shapes, try To dance around the grand piano’s harmony Of Gothic, suspenseful cacophony
That puts the ghosts in a daze, Floating to and fro, getting closer to the blaze Of screeching, caterwauling cries, phase In and out as new spirits float in a craze
To reach the soul wrenching Sounds of agony, depression, leering, Expecting to be driven to healing From their sweet suffering that’s heart rending.
Fog’s hazy dream world drizzled Down the mountain side, as the sun’s rays fizzled Into its relentless brume and lays its web, Like a spider setting up its nest in fab Tradition, that calls prey to its behest.
The scene above and below is covered In a dreamy gauze that needs not be applauded, As the blurry vision reflects a reality Few wish to face: life is shady, Never clear cut, rather its variety, at best,
Its unpredictability takes you away from absolutes That are limiting in their scopes as brutes That wrench your rosy world into chaos Of flutes whose mellow, ethereal sounds floss Your heart into airy contentment lest …
It dissipates, like the misty miasma in a royal crest.