Though some might like to wield a sword, a pen will have to do.
A row of x’s marks the spots where the ogre may be vulnerable.
We must with surgical precision find those areas and mark them
For eventual good riddance to, or at least containment.

The Chinese have a torture named “Death by a Thousand Cuts”
We must revise that to become “Death by a Million Votes”
Death to evilness and discord, to ego and self worship.
Death to everything that’s wrong in hopes to make it right.

For every X that’s penned in blue, another’s penned in red
The future hangs suspended in the pen with the most ink.
You cannot blame the other side, mere soldiers in a war.
Delusions are an easy sell to those with too much money.

If one is right, one must be wrong in this perverse equation.
The middle ground turned battlefield with multicolor bodies
Rotting on soil stained with blood both red and blue
As the exhausting siege creeps to its conclusion.

What color will the banners be when we wake up tomorrow.
Who will weep with happiness and who shed tears of sorrow.
Who  will try to analyze the reasons for the outcome
For those of us who have to live beneath those waving banners.

ljm