A little poem I wrote after being informed that being a Marxist put 'blood on my hands'.
Aflutter by my Marxist ties,
Mass graves and gulags swarmed his head
But Karl Marx needs no alibis
For Stalin and Mao’s many dead.
Unless in his spare time he killed
Whores or orphans or old salesmen,
It wasn’t blood but wine he spilled,
And did all of his killing with his pen.
Don’t sweat my presence on picket lines
Or cry as I recite ‘Aubade’
Marx is as guilty of Stalin’s crimes
As Jesus was for the crusades.
Cross Posted at EVERYTHING IN THE MEDICINE CABINET HAS EXPIRED.