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"
