These are the days of the misconstrued intention,
of the accidental bully,
the disposable convention.
This is the time of the omnipresent fake,
the permitted miss of manners,
a transparency opaque.
Now is the hour of the Devil, no disguise,
with his glutting greedy eyes.
Will we slump or will we rise?
Will we fold or will we play?
Be the patriot or prey?
This is the moment we let go fine elocution,
we unsheath our rusty swords
or lay down to dissolution.
Years to hours,
moments dying.
Be the fled or
be the flying.
🌿
