Fliers fluttered on the streets
The fight is finally over.
One has prevailed the other eight
Yet the terminus a quo of the beaten
A gateway to a new fall – The mark of activism.
Others scowled while one grinned
He who triumphed was hailed.
Standing in front of the mob
He vowed and guaranteed.
Then, a familiar voice called out
“Excuse me, Mr. President.
Will you do it right this time?”
Note: This is an original poem by Red Phantom.
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