For some puzzling reason, our great nation,
Has become one of hate and aberration
Of what we, would like to be,
Full of life's love and of charity.
What must we do, that's not remote,
Is get to the polls and vote.

Must I be the way I am?
Can I change my being?
Must I walk this road alone?
Going through life, not seeing?

The fire has died now,
burning all the logs
into embers.
Crackling of wood,
cooling,
echoes through the room,
while noises of the
dishwasher, cycling,
increasing intensity,
drowning out my memories.

A single, lonely Moth
flits to the flickering flame
Gone