The perimeter has been drawn in.
The Bear, the Dragon, and the desert Jackals greedily snarl and consume the discards, the Abandoned and the Betrayed.
Yet the picket line is undefined, unsecured, and the Jester fiddles and mocks his charges with disdain, blaming them for his failures, and gaslighting the Masses.
The Puppeteer smirks behind his facade, as his Minions wait in the wings for the nod to return to their chaotic games in the Town Square. The fruit of his guile ripening in the tribal fields which he once plowed. He patiently awaits a post American world.
War does not cease because you walk away. An unvanquished Tyrant is not content to feed upon your morsels.
The Jackals sleep within your walls. The Bear has entertained your children with song and dance for generations, . And the Dragon deeply inhales the flame of Liberty’s torch, which flickers and smolders.
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