No matter how much
We narrow the choice down
To the most intelligent option
Our emotions slip out of the reins
And gallop, strengthen, froth at the mouth
Become beasts of desire
So that the intelligent option
Becomes a pious campaign
Mighty with rhetoric
Until, on the fateful day
Reality cuts through
Slapping the face with truth
And the mighty beast whimpers away—
A fade into disillusionment
Leaving the stark result
Of the intelligent minority
Quietly considering, in few numbers,
The nature of sobriety.
Reality, sooner or later,
Always cuts through
Quietly heralding sobriety.