Chaos

 

 

 

 

Suspicions seem to lure quaint

Moments like these are harrowing

Though many sense it redoubtable

It's all very queer

Everything is on the reel

Causing many to allay

Many crave the allaying

These troubles are quaint

Many sense the harrowing

The leaders are claimed redoubtable

Actions seem to be queer

Many are reeled

How can we stop that reel

When all solutions deny allaying

And all the pain becomes quaint

Foreign leaders become harrow

Things begin to seem redoubtable

Those we follow seem queer

Many of the queer

Seem to be the reason for the reel

Though they continue to allay

Reasoning becomes quaint 

And the injured are harrowed

Although they are redoubtable

Citizens are standing; redoubtable

Times like these are cracked and queer

Shaking figures on the reel

No simple words can allay

Even that word is faded and quaint

The bitter words gnawing; harrowing

The feeling of being forsaken is harrowing

And gods are claimed redoubtable

It all seems rusty and queer

Sacrifice the midnight to save the reel

Everyone is calm: allayed

The bitter memories are now quaint

Have they calmed the reel?

Are we fully allayed?

Perhaps if this moment, this year becomes quaint.

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