In the twilight hours, a sense of eerie panic drapes the land

In the twilight hours, a sense of eerie panic drapes the land, A silent fear, like a shadow of a forgotten truth, Uncertainty whispers through the crumbling walls of once-reliable faiths, Institutions that stood like ancient oaks, now hollow, fragile, trembling. There is a Presidential Election, marked on the calendar, Yet, the air is thick with a void, a chasm where a leader should stand. No President, only a chorus of echoes, Promises that dissolve into mist, leaving the soul adrift. I felt free and chained in the same breath, An oxymoron of existence, a paradox of hope and despair, Like the cusp of an election, when the stage is set, And all the crooks parade in borrowed honor, their smiles a mask of deceit. You are beseeched to vote for the right man, But who among the thieves wears the least tarnished cloak? Freedom, a gilded cage, its bars forged from the illusion of choice, Chains that shimmer with the false glitter of democracy. In the labyrinth of my mind, thoughts flow like a river of molten gold, Words melt into metaphors, emotions entwine with reason, A narrative of consciousness, where every verse is a mirror, Reflecting the melancholy of a world on the brink of change. I walk through the echoes of broken promises, Through the fog of lost certainties, seeking a lighthouse in the storm, A beacon of truth in a sea of lies, Yet, the horizon remains a blur, the future a shadow of doubt. The vote is cast, a pebble in the ocean, Ripples spreading through the turbulent waters of fate, And I stand, free and chained, in the twilight of hope and despair, Waiting for the dawn, for the first light to pierce the veil of night.