This is a shrine

To the best intentions

The great redesign

For which we are the indemnitee

On foul winds

Blow dead seeds

Planting in the soil of contempt

Fertilized with the mother’s wrath

Have less fear for that which lurks in the dark

The greatest horrors

Shine brightest when exposed

To the stark light of day

Rebuke the ignorance

Of complexity

Trim the fat

Cauterize the wound

The thunderous crashing of waves

Is but the softest show of power

When compared to the tremendous swell

Just beneath the surf

When speech is forced into dark corners

Of even darker speakeasies

Cloak and dagger become the prelude

Of open destruction to come

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