Joe Biden the man has an "aggressive form" of prostate cancer, interrupting the news narrative feeding frenzy over former President Joe Biden
“NO TEARS FOR THE ARCHITECT”
No prayers for him, no solemn grace,
No mourning etched upon my face.
This isn’t grief—it’s clarity,
A reckoning for tyranny.
He lived five decades at the helm,
A liar crowned within the realm.
With smiling teeth and weathered skin,
He signed the laws that caged us in.
He sold us out with velvet charm,
Then shook our hands and did us harm.
He built his throne on shattered bones,
Then played the saint in solemn tones.
He penned the crime bills, waved the flag,
Watched mothers weep, then let them lag.
He posed as friend, but bled the streets—
A Judas cloaked in Wall Street’s sheets.
He blessed the wars he never fought,
Let bodies rot for what he bought.
Then washed his hands in public praise,
While drones turned cities into graves.
He left our weapons in the dust,
Betrayed our allies, breached their trust.
He called defeat a bold success—
A fraud wrapped up in righteousness.
He let the banks devour the land,
While feigning care with trembling hand.
He fed the beast, ignored the cries,
Then wept on cue with practiced lies.
His son, a symbol of decay,
Should rot in jail another day!
But bloodlines buy immunity—
The price of state impunity.
He ruled with pens and quiet dread,
His touch unseen, but widely spread.
He let the people starve and fall,
Then auto-signed the final call.
He smiled as virtue turned to dust,
Made moral rot a sacred trust.
And every time we sought the light,
He snuffed it out and called it right.
So no—I will not bow my head,
Or grieve a man whose touch has bled.
His body now begins to pay
What courts and cowards kept at bay.
Not by the law, but by decay,
Not ballots, but his DNA.
The judgment that he always ducked
Now blooms within—corrupted, plucked.
This isn’t hate—it’s honest weight.
A man must own the world he shaped.
And cancer, cold and void of spin,
May be the first to hold him in.
No monsters stalked with blade or mask,
He wore the crown, performed the task.
He ruled in daylight, clean and proud,
And strangled justice in a crowd.
So mourn him if you must pretend.
I’ll mark this moment as the end.
Not cruel, but true—and there I stand:
No tears for him. Just reprimand.
©️Susiejoy Barry
Guess he regrets signing that Pardon for Colon Cancer
“NO TEARS FOR THE ARCHITECT”
No prayers for him, no solemn grace,
No mourning etched upon my face.
This isn’t grief—it’s clarity,
A reckoning for tyranny.
He lived five decades at the helm,
A liar crowned within the realm.
With smiling teeth and weathered skin,
He signed the laws that caged us in.
He sold us out with velvet charm,
Then shook our hands and did us harm.
He built his throne on shattered bones,
Then played the saint in solemn tones.
He penned the crime bills, waved the flag,
Watched mothers weep, then let them lag.
He posed as friend, but bled the streets—
A Judas cloaked in Wall Street’s sheets.
He blessed the wars he never fought,
Let bodies rot for what he bought.
Then washed his hands in public praise,
While drones turned cities into graves.
He left our weapons in the dust,
Betrayed our allies, breached their trust.
He called defeat a bold success—
A fraud wrapped up in righteousness.
He let the banks devour the land,
While feigning care with trembling hand.
He fed the beast, ignored the cries,
Then wept on cue with practiced lies.
His son, a symbol of decay,
Should rot in jail another day!
But bloodlines buy immunity—
The price of state impunity.
He ruled with pens and quiet dread,
His touch unseen, but widely spread.
He let the people starve and fall,
Then auto-signed the final call.
He smiled as virtue turned to dust,
Made moral rot a sacred trust.
And every time we sought the light,
He snuffed it out and called it right.
So no—I will not bow my head,
Or grieve a man whose touch has bled.
His body now begins to pay
What courts and cowards kept at bay.
Not by the law, but by decay,
Not ballots, but his DNA.
The judgment that he always ducked
Now blooms within—corrupted, plucked.
This isn’t hate—it’s honest weight.
A man must own the world he shaped.
And cancer, cold and void of spin,
May be the first to hold him in.
No monsters stalked with blade or mask,
He wore the crown, performed the task.
He ruled in daylight, clean and proud,
And strangled justice in a crowd.
So mourn him if you must pretend.
I’ll mark this moment as the end.
Not cruel, but true—and there I stand:
No tears for him. Just reprimand.
©️Susiejoy Barry
Guess he regrets signing that Pardon for Colon Cancer