State Of The Union 2018

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A collapsing confusion of entropy:

Pigments collide, but refuse to mix.
Wars nibble the edges of empire.
Famished Moloch devours all.
X and Y stare each the other down.
The weary world sweats and sighs.
The air emits a squeal of lies.
Blind slaves buy more and die.
Baffled birds circle the sky.
A pall falls this early autumn.
All the shiny promises are old.
Shadows lengthen. The sun is cold.
November waits like a wolf.
The bright gods have fled away.
The future fades like a melting mirage.
Something obscene approaches Bethlehem.
Something with fangs and feet of clay.
A whirlwind of mayhem.
Something that drains hope away.

Rancor and discord, here to stay.