Sonnet to the Inevitability of Nazi Comparisons
When reason’s tide doth grace our humble thread,
And gentle wit with measured voice is laid,
Yet lo, some knave, with logic all but dead,
Doth call his foe a tyrant, unafraid.
“Thou art as Hitler!”—thus the gauntlet thrown,
A foolish crown placed on a petty spat;
As if in digital courts ’tis widely known,
The victor’s found by memes and GIFs and chat.
O cursed fate, that every quarrel’s course
Must drift toward tanks and goose-steps in the rain,
Where history’s darkest, most malignant force
Is wielded for a parking space or bane.
So speak, ye jesters of the online hall—
For all are Hitler, if one scrolls at all.
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