Trump Is Dead

The Hashtag’s Shadow

It began as a whisper, a spark in the feed,

a headline unproven, a rumor to read.

No breaking alert, no solemn bell,

just murmurs online that wove their spell.

A senator spoke with a cautious tone,

that tragedies come, that fate is unknown.

His words were clipped, reshaped, replayed,

and soon the crowd claimed truth betrayed.

“Trump is dead,” the hashtag cried,

a phrase that thundered far and wide.

Through Twitter storms and TikTok scrolls,

the story gathered borrowed souls.

A bruise on a hand, a stumble in gait,

an absence stretched across the state.

Three days of silence, a weekend gone,

and speculation marched along.

Screens lit up with crafted threads,

half in jest, half clothed in dread.

One photo blurred, one clip miscast,

became the proof the doubt amassed.

A cartoon’s quip, a jester’s line,

from The Simpsons crossing time.

Groening joked of death and cheer,

and memes declared the end was near.

Yet fact was dull, unfit for flame,

a doctor’s note, a body the same.

Alive he stood, with weary smile,

but rumors raced another mile.

The internet thrives on tales untrue,

where satire and fear brew something new.

A rumor born of jest and chance

can topple truth with one shared glance.

And so the feeds became a stage,

where cynics mocked and critics raged.

Some mourned in earnest, some laughed instead,

but all repeated, “Trump is dead.”

What does it show, this viral sprawl,

of trending death that never falls?

It tells us how our hunger grows

for scandal more than what one knows.

The body ages, the camera lies,

a bruise becomes a world’s surprise.

The silence of a single day

becomes a tomb where truth decays.

And those in power, watched so near,

must answer shadows, not just fear.

For in the digital town square’s din,

a rumor shouted soon feels akin

to prophecy, to fate foretold,

a headline bold, though built on mold.

The people dance on fragile ground,

in memes and jokes, their truth is found.

The satire sings, the gossip feeds,

and what is rumor meets their needs.

But danger hides in such a trend,

when lies take root and truths must bend.

For faith in fact erodes away,

when hashtags shape the news of day.

So pause, dear reader, when you see

a phrase that spreads so instantly.

Ask who first spoke, what proof they share,

and why the tale spreads everywhere.

Because in times when trust is thin,

when noise is thick and facts are dim,

a single tweet, a careless jest,

can put the living to their rest.

Yet history shows the cycle’s face,

this isn’t new, just faster paced.

From whispers once in village square

to viral storms that fill the air.

The rumor dies, the truth remains,

but scars are left, and doubt sustains.

And though alive, a man must cope

with memes that bury flesh and hope.

Still, laughter blooms, for satire thrives,

in digital courts where jest survives.

And some will say, “It’s just a trend,

a joke online, no harm to send.”

But others warn, with heavier voice,

that truth itself may lose its choice.

For if we cannot sort the thread,

we’ll trust the false, forget the dead.

So let this tale remind us all,

how swiftly rumors rise and fall.

A living man was mourned in jest,

and hashtags wrote what facts repressed.

“Trump is dead,” the screen once said,

but living truth walked on instead.

And in the gap ‘tween fact and flame,

we glimpse the power of the name.