Orange man, orange man — where have you gone?
Not to the scoreboard or the stage, but to the slow rooms of the night,
where applause cools into dust and banners are folded like small graves.
Orange man, orange man — what did you leave?
A house full of echoes: canned laughter, a ledger of promises, a suit hung like a flag.
We count the holes in daylight where once your bright shadow fell.
Orange man, orange man — who keeps your light?
It lingers in the panes of closed shops, in the cheap gloss of campaign trinkets,
in photographs browned at the edges, where smiles have gone to sleep.
Orange man, orange man — why do we keep asking?
Because the tenderness we thought we owned is thin as parade confetti,
because someone must stand in the ruin and name what was taken.
Orange man, orange man — how do we bury such noise?
We lower it gently, speak its name once, then better, and again at the wake:
not to forget, but to learn the shape of absence so we can grow around it.
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The New Renaissance Mindset 
i could be mistaken that this is a reference to President Trump; an interesting poetic concept, its worth noting that issues with American policies have existed well before his administration
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Heehee… very possibly, but you didn’t hear it from me 😏😏
The original version was written decades ago when I was young and full s**, I mean full of myself. If completely forgotten the original subject of it, but my recent doom-scrolling adventures have surely bled into this political version.
Thank you for your comment. I’m deeply grateful for you.
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