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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