A Day Like Many Others

Dulcet tones of discord dance

Sharp upon the autumn air.

Sarcasm drips acidic

Much like rain from browning leaves.

Oh, dilemma! Dear.

To remain without,

Damp and chill beneath grey skies,

Or to venture inward,

Facing scathing blazing heat.

Between discomfort and cowardice, a middle ground appears.

Beneath the sheltered eaves

Guaranteed to distract,

And provide a modest warmth,

mindless labors gayly wait.

That Hoary Gilded Capital

Walking sullied streets,

noting all the old deceits;

gold leaf peeling off in sheets.


Cracked and weathered stone,

reminiscent of old bone

cast aside to rot alone.


Maybe I’m jaded,

but it’s luster has faded,

past dignities degraded.


How have we become,

so uncaring, heartless, numb,

is there naught that can be done?


Dare we even try

to uphold truth to that lie,

“Great Republics can not die“?


If we can’t, we’re done.

Hare on off and have some fun.

Democracy’s race is run.