Faith edges in wearing only thin slippers.
Tyranny in combat boots arrives, boasting,
coveting the view from the cheap seats
where acrimony these days is rampant.
Roll of dice in winnerless contest,
prizes of heartache, sorrow and despair.
Failure not imagined yet, not concealed,
in plain sight not yet revealed.
Games of uncertainty, calamity,
players naked and tethered,
awake enough during small pauses in insomnia
to see the line waiting to carry that cross.
One was cut, the other bleeding
as life and death shook hands
to survey the distant coast of sanity
where paranoia thrives and vengeance lurks.
Progress with its permanent smirk
has condensed liberty to a sideshow.
Justice, asleep at the traffic light,
where broken stone tablets litter the scene.