Another long sword’s been unsheathed

against the darts of reason.

Again, we’ve wept. Once more we’ve grieved.

It comes round every season.

When power rules with sharpened tools,

there’ll always be some clashing.

The constant grate ‘tween kings and fools

will set the teeth to gnashing.

“Rise up with the tides,” we’ll chant,

as our followers battle our leaders.

And, when history’s made, either truth or charade,

the past’s granted a future through readers.

But, as long as one knows,

like the blush on a rose,

much of what we suppose leans on light.

There’ll be dream mixed with fact.

There’ll be lies left intact.

In the end, it’s all schemes, wrong and right.