Sunday, January 22, 2017

Founding Fathers

There were no blueprints in those early days;
Just ragged tomes and scrolls from eons past
With cryptic jargon and philosophies
Of overstated misbegotten text.

The pieces are all there in scattered scrawl
Laid out before the gathering to weigh.
The gallant and outspoken breathing fire
As they beat their chests and cry for liberty.

Consensus fails to fill the room with glee
And harmony is but a poltergeist
Who manifests in vague chimeric veils
To dance and shift and gel to solid type.

And in the end their grand epiphany  
Befits the will of all who would be free.

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