This poem tries to capture the stark contrast between Trump’s upcoming inauguration and the hope-filled moments of previous administrations. While the grandeur of Joe Biden’s ceremony featured voices like Amanda Gorman and Lady Gaga, Trump’s inauguration will lack such cultural weight. Instead, it’s marked by a second-hand spectacle, with lesser-known z-celebrities filling the void. Half-mast flags ironically signal the nation’s discontent, as the spectacle of power feels more like a hollow performance than a moment of unity.

The banners hang in shades of gray,
Half-mast to mark this mournful day.
No cheers, no crowds, no pride displayed,
Just empty acts, a farce portrayed.

Where Gorman’s words once gave us cheer,
No poet here will speak what's dear.
No anthem grand from Lady G,
But songs from secondhand, you see.

"Y.M.C.A." blares loud, absurd,
A mockery of truth deferred.
With Carrie crooning borrowed pride,
The emptiness cannot be denied.

The Capitol stands cold, bereft,
Its honour torn, its promise left.
A zeppelin rises, bloated, frail,
A fragile husk that’s doomed to fail.

Where millions gathered once before,
Now ghostly voids mock what’s in store.
The screens project the lies he weaves,
But truth is clear: no one believes.

The flags, half-raised, mourn not the dead,
But signal shame for what’s ahead—
A nation led by spite and guile,
An impostor cloaked in borrowed style.

Yet even in this darkened hour,
Hope resists the grasp of power.
The stars endure, the light remains,
Outlasting falsehood’s fleeting reigns.