The election has come -- gone,
blasts of circumstance resounding.
But now the day after -- solemn,
the Internet abuzz with weeping.
Is this real? We ask,
drugged and dazed in the wake.
Questioning, like Socrates, trying to break this dream state.
Yes, it's the Real,
A situation displaced in time.
The Whites have spoken;
the fool is King.
And we are mere paper dolls,
discarded, melting in the fall rain.