Raging rhetoric rises
Frail and failing folks
Tapped out
Buried under words
Ideological landslides
Cover the evidence
Of neglect and decay
Kings and Queens of the
Dung heap
Make promises
No one believes anymore
Anyway
Still polishing crowns
Rolling out the carpets
Blaring trumpets cry
No more blindness
No one can hear it
Over the sound of their own
Despair
After the storm vents
Skies clear and blue streaming
With rays of golden light
The hill sprouts with kindness
A thousand little leaves
Of hope
Growing wildly from the
Wreckage wrought
From the philosophical
Dispute
