I hope you realize what you have done
But I don’t think
you do. You write me still
As if I trusted you.
But anyone
Who paid any
attention to you will
Be well aware you
earned my lack of trust.
I wrote
you—often—with the futile hope
My word would make
you (surely something must)
Recognize the
sliding slippery slope
Of your hypocrisy.
You used to seem
Honest and
principled, if still wrong-headed;
But I have found
that honesty a dream
The principles only
in use when wedded
To power politics.
You had your chance
But voted for these
deaths well in advance.
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