Amidst the roar of wind cursing by,

Two pieces of driftwood caught my eye,

Placed surreally in the dirt,

Like props in a grand design.

Their twisted forms and jagged edges,

Evoke a sense of primal rage,

As if they too were part of the debate,

That rages on this stage.

Their presence here is no coincidence,

For they seem to symbolize,

The harsh realities of life,

And the struggles we must survive.

As the angry debate rages on,

These driftwood pieces stand still,

A silent witness to the fury,

Of those who seek to bend will.

And yet, in their stillness,

There is a certain calm,

A reminder that even in chaos,

We can find a sense of balm.

So let us look upon these driftwood pieces,

And take solace in their form,

For amidst the storm and anger,

They remind us of a higher norm.


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