The election results, like a cancer--
blared loud and large in the dim fog war.
The morning after.
And like a cancer, we saw it comming.
Hoped for the best, feared the worst.
Less than a year to prepare, the inevitable.
The numbers loomed before me,
270 electoral votes needed,
274 votes achieved.
Like the flight number
of some doomed airline,
Lost-- no survivors.
Or a cancer spreading
throughout the heartland,
the end of hope.
And still, when it came,
it left me numb.
As if caught by suprise.
I saw it coming,
yet hoped it couldn't be,
but all things have a life span.
A time line, which,
when extended indefinatly,
renders the chances of survival to zero.
No need to count the votes.
Numb, no tears,
shock.
As it it couldn't be.
I had witnessed
the passing of America.
