Flood Runs Deep

How many briefs have played

The role of victim upon this

Well-walked floor?

How many mistakes have been

Let to slip through the cracks of

Prejudice, bearing only unilateral

Shields marked with the indicia of ignorant applause?

If something runs amiss

Perhaps the better option

Would be to fix what ails

If something runs afoul

Perhaps the best option

Would be to tear the framework down

If the only thing preventing change,

Are the potentially diminished pocketbooks of senators and congressmen…then cast out thy demon and begin anew again

Sometimes…oftentimes…It feels as if, we, the old and young, the each and all, not included in that select caste of few, belong to a collective, duly deserving of unique entitlement.  Qualified most of us are, to propose a writ of habeas corpus be filed in our honor; to ensure the whys are answered appropriately, beginning with why the few, are able to imprison the many without a recourse set to scales?

Instead we fight amongst ourselves.  Battles between brothers and sisters, cousins and aunts, uncles and fathers, mothers and sons, Daughters and nephews, grandparents and nieces, neighbors and friends, break out all too consistently.  This warfare has the few popping a cork, as they enjoy the show, watching as the power of a combined voice crumbles incoherently. Instead of speaking in unison, many as one, the screams of singular derision overshadow each the other, creating an unlistenable, undecipherable message sent.

There were four cities illustrated Biblically, where we know what stirred the seas; where we know what came to be, and yet, still

This flood runs much deeper…