We imbued this day with power,
A day to choose our collective future.
This is the week, the day, the hour
That we must choose our law, our hope, our truth.
True, the choice is made in secret,
Presence and choice safely divided,
But only until the doors shut
And each choice is carefully revealed.
Then, finally, the maps are shown
And we wait with bated breath.
One by one, the count like a battle zone,
From hand to ledger to map, our judgment revealed.
In early voting it was written.
On Election Day it is sealed.
Whose life now ends hunger-bitten?
Whose will begin anew?
Who will fall to treatable disease?
Who to a bigot’s hate?
Who will give their life in an attempt to appease?
Who in reckless search for empty surfeit?
Who will live in ceaseless fear and anguish?
Who will find joy and peace?
Who will walk, cowed and vanquished?
Who with head high and proud?
The only relief from the sentence we gave ourselves:
Community, compassion, and justice.
