A quote from Buddha:  Three things cannot stay hidden-the sun, the moon, and the truth.  And then I wrote this poem.  It is a little rough and unkempt around the edges, but I like where it’s heading.

Wild winds shriek through the trees
As the presidential debates continue
No longer microfiched but instead blaring out the images
On people’s lawn with signs commanding who to vote for
We stand like the immaculate conception listening to all said
With judgments and fever drawn words
Hungry looks defy the strength of the wild winds shrieking through the trees
We wish for the natural
We assume they are like us but like the wild winds, the torrential rain, the hail stones never ending
We cannot predict our future by voting for one
Or the other.
A prayer and a whisper of the sun shining through after the violent storm
Is a stronger sign then words melting into shapes and sounds
A skilled orator manipulates
We are not just like them
But we are more like the gentle brook flowing along
Sometimes in time with the current and
Sometimes raging against the elements and
Overflowing the bank while bystanders pack the banks
Watching us drown and struggle with the current
Sometimes even lending us a hand to pull us further into the mire..
Dire we may be…but the river and the elements continue their travesty
As the politicians continue their
We pray.