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.