All around is a quickening mire, with solid ground below.
Not a chance of going anywhere but here.
Doing anything else is unthinkable.
Some see, and stop moving. Some don’t.
On and on, the cries, yells, protests, and marches.
It’s called quicksand for a reason.
They jumped in, fools flapping where giants swam.
Braying righteousness, rights, and right.
Eventually, whatever else is said, all will be drawn in.
Going about all this foolishness serves no purpose.
It's better to watch, to listen, to hope.
Nobody remembers, with Christmas lights in October.
So what's left? Stay, and hope, and wait, and pray?