A Sunny Afternoon in a New City

A national emergency. 

A grave, grave news.

The chemistry labs in ours heads are running out of chemicals to brew. 

The cauldrons, running low on ingredients, 

Running low on liquified fire,

Running low on honesty and earnestness,

Have begun to show dents here and there,

Here a little too pronounced,

There a little unapparent.

When love burns like metallic sodium,

Who screams slogans of a separatist kind?

When soldiers die and a sweet lady's sweetness betrays the sickness of a hornet swarm,

do we go back?

Do we push forward?

Do we, 

At the end,

Go back to that same old pair of brown eyes that once stopped us in our tracks?