The election is over. Some people
Are sad and some people are ecstatic.
These feelings resemble a church steeple
That will quickly vanish in some tragic
War that grew out of sectarian strife,
A forgotten cause no one remembers.
All things vanish in the river of life,
All things are like a fire's dying ember.
Earthly things do not last or give shelter;
Impermanence is like a well-honed knife
That the fates use to slowly dismember
Things into their aggregates; a dream rife
With seeming meaning. Beyond this nightmare
There's a formless refuge beyond despair.