FRACTURED UNION: ECHOES OF DIVISION

 

Fractured Union: Echoes of DivisionIn the fractured mosaic of these United States,
where stars stripe red with rage and blue with blame,
dialogue dies in the dust of digital trenches—
no bridge of words, only barricades of barbs.
Ad hominem arrows fly swift as tweets,
piercing not ideas, but the hearts behind them:
"You're a fool, a traitor, a relic of the wrong side." We vs. Them: the eternal chant of the divided,
tribes tattooed in flags and filters,
hate simmering for the unfamiliar face—
skin too dark, accent too foreign, faith too far.
We scorn the stranger's struggle, judge their steps
as if our boots could never slip in the same mud,
forgetting how circumstance shapes the soul,
how we'd bend or break in their borrowed storm. It doesn't have to be this way—
this venomous volley, hostility's endless hail,
low blows below the belt, relentless, unyielding,
no pause for breath, no mercy in the melee.
Greed gleams like fool's gold in the spotlight,
easy to spot, easier still to chase:
the vultures in suits, the influencers with fangs,
pouncing on vulnerability, wounding with whispers,
instilling fear like frost in fragile veins. The greedy swarm everywhere, shadows in the crowd,
their flying monkeys—zealous, blind, and biting—
scatter seeds of scorn, then scamper home for supper,
bellies full of borrowed bile.
Campaigns of harassment trace no path to progress,
judgment's jagged edge dulls the compass of care.
In a compassionate society, we'd chart a kinder course:
hands extended, not clenched; voices woven, not weaponized—
for unity whispers, "We are more alike than apart."