Saturday, February 11, 2017


(by R.P.Edwards)

I feel the same
Your hurt is mine
I know your pain
Though others, kind
Feel from outside
And try their best
To turn your tide
'tis only we
Whose shoes we share
A deeper help 
The burden bear
So arms are here
And knowing tears
I feel your pain
I know your fears

My...the opening poem was meant to be of a lighter sort; but it came out rather serious (perhaps some sort of subconscious issue poking out its head). No matter. I was merely "feeling" a bit of the lament that the never-Trumpers have been feeling, and the Super Bowl was the impetus. 

How so? Well, not being a New England Patriot fan I was rather pleased that they were getting trounced during the first half. However, when the substantial lead was blown and they earned the championship (begrudgingly spoken, yet factual; "earned") I experienced a bit (tiny) of the "The game's over; I can't believe "we" lost. How can we reverse this?" psychosis. Answer: you can't.

So...that's where the empathy comes in. YOU can't believe that Trump won...and it hurts. That's just how it is. Time to get over it.

To Tom and crew: congrats. 


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