A Poem for Don Lemon

Heralding a warrior for truth who confronts Christofascism

My Fellow Democracy Defenders,

Don Lemon is making Christian nationalists uncomfortable. He bravely joined protestors in a church to ask if Jesus would condone ICE. I have written a poem as a tribute to his bravery. We must keep protesting in the streets. Let’s keep singing the No Kings anthem together to resist Trump’s fascist regime!

NOTE: Please excuse the lack of posts for the past week. My partner and I are both sick. We are also worried that we will lose health insurance due to the DOGE/MAGA budget cuts. Your support means the world to us. Every little bit makes a big difference!

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Beneath the arches, high and vast,
Where stained glass holds the shadows fast,
A different kind of sermon rings—
Not of the psalms, but earthly things.
Where silence usually holds its sway,
A voice steps forth to face the day.

The flags are draped upon the cross,
A blurred line drawn at freedom’s loss,
Where creed and country intertwine
To claim a power distinct, divine.
Into this heavy, hallowed air,
Don Lemon pulls a folding chair.

He brings no hymnal, brings no rite,
But holds a mirror to the light.
With microphone and steady hand,
He asks the questions of the land:
“Can faith remain if truth is bent?
Is this what the founders meant?”

He speaks to those who blur the lane
Between the pulpit and the reign,
Who wrap the state in holy vest
To put the civil law to test.
He stands where dogma seeks to rule,
And uses fact as sharpest tool.

It is a tense and quiet grace,
To argue in a sacred space,
To separate the fear from fact
And keep the democratic pact.
For freedom dies in shadowed nooks
Unless inscribed in open books.

So in the nave, a reporter stands,
With civil duty in his hands,
To clear the fog, to guard the vote,
And strike a brave, discordant note—
That truth must live in church and square,
If democracy is meant to share.