The Ides of Everything


August 31, 2015. © Talon Truitt Cherry, All rights reserved

Fifty stars for our fifty states, thirteen stripes are on the ground.
As we tread, we tread on dreams.
As you tread you tread on me.

Ballots cast with an empty flask, let us watch another clown.
Everything for you and me.
In the ides of everything.

Winds of change never seem to stray from the patterns I have found,
some how more than not its all or nothing.
Every flag that waves, every unmarked grave is another fable bound.
Nothings changed that I can see.
In the ides of everything.

Fifty years on an old mans face, two sons are in the ground,
one barely seventeen.
Every father on your knees.

Countless stripes in an empty grave, as we sound another round.
Every tear will find the sea.
In the ides of everything.

Every poor mans son holds an empty gun, because we can't afford the rounds,
while the Generals roll the dice for all or nothing.
For fifteen years every flag has flown at half mast in my town,
raised each day by someone free.
In the ides of everything.

Fifty stars for our fifty states, thirteen stripes are on the ground.
As we tread, we tread on dreams.
As you tread you tread on me.

A free mans thought is dangerous road, to travel in my town.
Every war will kill a dream.
In the ides of everything.

Man can't change when the beats the same in every drum of war we pound.
Clasped by chains of change we're changing nothing.
Every settled score is another war though the cost is world renowned.
Lay to rest another dream.
In the ides of everything