Wring out the dry paste and let the leaves fall towards us
Seasons are going amuck like routes going pass
We are among the next voter, as they were, as were they
It`s a sneaky sense of torrents, yet it doesn`t tell a lie
It won`t matter, but we all must not quash; history was right,
we`ll be history if ignoring common sense is all that`s left in the head
The line is grey, but not a polygon
What are “bricks”? A field of rock for folding the way beyond a space some place in a room?
Then make the room more open than some rotating door
This was before the results circled in, but why vitriolage now?
Will melting the land we travel be the new way, again?
Can shame be seen behind the burns made by the innocent contest, this is not a question
These errors of ways are not questions, yet we attack them with our thinnest bowls of “Flesh be Gone”
Maybe you should have a taste….But that will get us nowhere…
Little ones need us, friends do, family do, rivals too, others too; strangers do too, soon
We`ll need to clean up the mess alone otherwise, without a maintenance hand
We still have each other, so be there even as the contest comes to a close; fair is fair
People are still who people are, is that a problem?
Then fix the lines without becoming your own enemy
We are not entitled to force our way on a terrible fate
That would solve nothing, but it would prove history had a fact about who we are
For now, let us take a moment of silence, then compassion this strange pain
Some of us are not getting our favorite meal, but it’s still food, and we have seasoning
It’s not just a table or “yours”, we made this table over time
It’s not something that can be smashed all because of a lash and a point proven wrong
Work takes time, love takes time, tolerance takes time
Opportunity takes time along with the above and unmentioned
When we’ve had our fill, we still got to do the dishes, so use your head, not blind patriarchal vore