The Morning After


It is the morning after
divisive bickering
leaves us to pick up the pieces
scattered like broken crayons,
red, blue, orange, green

While the orange sun sets
over tumultuous blue waters
that sprinkled raindrops
on fresh green pastures
amidst a fiery red glow

That burns tired
weather lined faces
reflecting faults
that run deep and wide
through this vast country

A patchwork quilt
stitched together by
frayed promises of hope
as if butter wouldn’t melt
in any of their mouths

It remains to be seen
if all the Queen’s horses
and all the Queen’s men
can put together
this country again.

©Heather Carr-Rowe

Ragtag Daily Prompt: Butter

OctPoWriMo: Broken Pieces

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