The Challenge

There is some wrestling
Going on within, some schism
The disparate
Elements of which are
At war each with each
Over some skirmish
Some rout 
Of which I remain 

There is dichotomy in
There, some precipice
That my friends lean over
To jeer at
My foes
Who aim and shoot back
But do not strike the mark.

I would know what
The fight is about
But I am not allowed, 
Am censored 
Until their leader send
A codicil to tell me
His fine result:

That life can resume
Its current course
Without internal strife
And division
Sundering the road
And strewing in its wake
Both waste
And lack.
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