The inspiration lathered on these bones has dried to a brittle crust
and that once-supple skin is now as fickle as any political opinion.
I’ve traced the cracks in each step to their deepest roots
and scoffed at their determination and failure to recognize history.
The words of yesterday are as applicable today as they will be tomorrow,
and in the end our parents were right: History repeats itself.
So for now I’ll dream, take your slate and wash it clear,
anxiously awaiting the chips and scratches bound to appear.
For now I’ll wait and be a spectator, a rhetorical question for another day.