The election year carnival has set up on the town square.
Hawkers shout from every tent, “come try our wares.”
Games of chance do not come free.
Choices are forced by our monetary needs.
Every player needs tickets to play.
Too few funds shortens the stay.
The House of Mirrors is on full display.
But the images inside are shattered in the fray
of fast-moving events and fast-talking cons.
Bombarded by fractured light we simply go on.
We get lost amid broken images
with pattern-less scrimmages
as we move through mirrored rooms.
Our hearts pound out a sense of doom.
Anxiety reigns.This feels like no game
that anyone can win, nor simply gain fame.
This House of Mirrors creates fear
and makes each step too dear
to waste on those seeking our vote.
We respond to the loudest note,
no soft word can compete
as we close our eyes and complete
the winding route to the outside.
Suddenly, we just want to hide.
It is all too much to pay attention.
We are as fractured as the mirrors we faced,
mirrors which displaced reality’s space.
Down is up and up is down.
We search for a safe space with none to be found.
We are surrounded by the false laughter of clowns.
All we once knew to be true is turned around.
We yearn for past days when we stood on solid ground.
annarino writes 