This poem was largely inspired by all that 2020 has had to offer; venomous politics, a global pandemic, a nail-biting election, worldwide outcry over civil rights and much more. Do with it as you will.

Razor thin

Whoever knows this race will win?

These threads, these lines,

Ere whose dawn, by whose dime,

Be plucked raw by these tall words, red lies.

Could anyone be listening?

Pages long,

Whoever thought to start this song?

Each word, each act, leads to

More dead, more cast,

Into this partisan epiphany.

This feels wrong,

Deep in our heart,

Our blood,

Our throng;

We gorged on our tails,

And bathed ourselves

In tar,

For far too long.

Sparks grow cold,

Though they are manyfold;

Spread from sweet tongue,

To wet ear, from

Blue lips,

To stained eyes,

Oh my –

Is anybody listening?

Dusk-bells toll,

As the last card begins

To roll;

Your throat, your lungs

And the,

Warmth from your hands –

Oh the weight of winds

They hold.

The last leaves fall,

Beware to act,

‘Fore Fate pens her great

End-all.

Are you Listening?