Old man
With your finger
On the button,
This is not your world.

Old man
Whose years in power
Twisted you 
Into a rabid snarling dog
This is not your world.

Old man
Whose gnarled hands
Tremble and lock in pain,
You cannot control
Even your fingers,
Yet you want
The world to yourself.

Old man
Listen.
Those distant
Playground sounds
Intruding on your reveries:
Children
Running, Screaming
Laughing, Singing.
This is their world. 

Old man
The gift of years
Lie ahead of them 
To fashion 
Necklaces from nooses 
Bracelets from bullets
Dancing from despair.

This is their world.
Not yours.
Your legacy
A stinking blight
For all to remember.