Distant Cries

We've been devoted to the ballot box,
Maintaining confidence in private rooms
With little curtains, like inviting wombs
Where good decisions grow, but mental blocks
Have interfered. It was unorthodox:
We've reached an era of weird sonic booms
And empty threats, of old friends and new brooms,
Of fruitless trauma and decisive shocks.

The mandate hasn't been reliable,
Because the masses have believed in lies,
Watched their TVs while truth turns tail and dies.
While we're being told that facts are pliable,
Some attitude is undeniable:
Reality is heard in distant cries.