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.
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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.
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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.
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Cross Posted at EVERYTHING IN THE MEDICINE CABINET HAS EXPIRED.