We were on an occupation of
            relative discerning,
crossing every bridge of
                            relative conviction.

But the rights of a singular formation,
               doesn't hold the morality of
a solitary standing.
            The glass was half full on our side,
                                                  never spilling.


But on that side every motion,
                    sided with the tears
   that eroded the path before us.
   Could our convulsions be stained.

But we were stead fast,
                 walking forth.
             Here comes our shame,
             here is the shame of our noose
             of ignorance.

That a half empty cup of emptiness
had more meaning than ours
                                              half filled.
But we walked further than out tether.
  And a cup half full, pulled a bridge down
                         with a fortitude of conviction.

"Just because a cup seems mostly full,
         the tears of a mostly half empty vessel
  can hold more weight and pull any bridge
                  of wrongness down in simple volume"