There really wasn’t ever a chance.
And when we ask why,
there is never really any answer.
There wasn’t any template to follow.
No administrative remedy.
No established protocol.
Nothing arrived in the form of a well thought out plan.
Everything just happened.
And the ramparts they fell
And they’re falling still.
Consequences are always there,
lying heavily on shoulders.
Heaped in dark corners.
Current and ancient at the same time.
Consequences are obscure shifts in the light,
only caught in the corners of some people’s eyes,
where they are trapped and draw bags
onto faces of those who hold them so dear.
And some people say
the answer is to measure and weigh.
Mark the outcome.
Still the questions persist.
What does it mean when?
How does it change if?
Why do we not know?
When all the while,
there’s a consequence,
under a veil that can never be lifted.
But we insist
on having an end
before we’ve even started.