Trapped in a cult

like father, like son.

Bowing down to prejudice,

is this really what won?

The day after the election

all my eyes could pour

were endless tears,

crying hope for no war.

a rock sat atop a ledge

on the side of the road,

its home.

sometimes people would

kick it around

on their daily runs

to who knows where,

a frivolous action according to

the little rock.