The Standing Quarrel
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This house of state is built on native stone
A grand republic raised with human grace.
It never stood by harmony alone,
But by the friction of a crowded space.
The warring pillars fight to claim the roof
Each certain it can bear the weight on high.
They stand divided, blind, and far aloof,
Beneath the ceiling of a common sky.
A dozen factions tear the inner wall
To change the room according to their sight.
They do not see the heavy roof will fall,
If any faction blindly wins the fight.
The blueprint is a dream not yet complete
Where compromise must guide the mason's hand.
We clear the hall where adversaries meet,
And build the home where equals safely stand.
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