On an exceptionally rainy Tuesday night,

A comfortable tension boiled over

Into cold panic, yet still

People clung to hope

(I clung to hope) even as

The country was awash in red.

It’s not so much the puppet I fear but the unseen hand, body, and mind
That will no longer need to embody themselves in the marionette.
They want to destroy the enchantment within me,
And those who kept silent yesterday will remain silent tomorrow.
In the ensuing gray, I saw a rainbow peeking out
From underneath a maroon bomber jacket
While I myself was seven black nights and a day in mourning--
Or was it defiance?

Remember, eight years ago, their world had ended too.

This is but a turn of the wheel of history.

It’s uncharted territory this time, truly;

No time to be buffeted by that red flood nor to seek the blue oceans of old.

I must tiptoe the plank of pragmatism or otherwise jump ship

So I by good intentions may not be drowned.