They march beneath opposing flags,
each claiming truth, each clutching rags
of what once flew in brighter air—
now stitched with spite, and wear, and glare.
The liberal says, I fight for change,
but fights the foe more than the range
of dreams that once lit open skies—
now dimmed by counter-critic cries.
The conservative says, I guard the past,
but grips it not, so much as casts
his gaze upon the left with blame,
and makes resistance half his name.
Each side forgets its native tongue,
each song unsung, each bell unstrung.
They’re fluent now in only not,
in who’s to blame, in what they’re not.
And somewhere, under noise and news,
the meanings blur, the labels bruise.
Two mirrors face, their light confined—
each hating what it might have shined.