They lived in an ethic
Spacious enough
To ford seven generations
Rooted in time immemorial
And in awe of the presents
Their will yielding
To a vision enduring beyond death
True sojourners of life
Not a cataclysm of transients
Who dis honor from wince they come
Going long with scalping the future
As less than face value
In efface of repulsing toupees
And inescapable reservations
Of ever elusive promise
From ambitious suit her
Utterly redressed for success
Immutably miss led
From all that is goaled
In the alchemy of madders of state
Tres passers for bid
Native peoples beset
Buy this great-great-great-great grand chide
As a ballot too ahead
That fatal ran some
From exhorting pros and cons
This poem is rooted, and rooting, in the ancient wisdom of the indigenous peoples of this land now named America. 
That ancient wisdom is an ethic whereby decisions are made based on the impact they will have seven generations from now, on our great-great-great-great grand children. This is practically the opposite of decision-making in modern America. The short-term, do-anything-for-the-next-quarter American attitude has many folks wondering if they should even bring children into such a whirled. The native peoples’ long-haul love for humanity and Mother Earth looks like it may be on the wrong genocide of history. As the chattel of fear, we have been bought and sold down what is left of the river.
The present context for this poem is the latest, perpetually disappointing, decidedly un-presidential, election season up on US. Specifically, today is the last set of Democratic primaries billed to US buy the presumptuous nominee, Hillary Clinton. 
The ass-dragging backdrop for this particular episode is the ever portending catastrophe of the un-Christian named Donald, that trumps all other incantations of evil. As ponder US as could be, few seriously consider what is lost in the frayed. Today, it may be the candidacy of Bernie Sanders, a candidate of hope. Running on fear to rule this sphere, it looks like despair of candidates, with the megalomania of Donald trump and statist realism of Hillary Clinton, will captivate US with the two so-called choices possessing the highest negative ratings. The U.S. electorate, left only with the leaser of two evils, will buy evil on the lay away plan, where we will be either liberally or economically screwed, or unthinkably both.
The title of this poem, Never Agin, alludes to leading a life which is unabashedly for, not merely agin. The means determine the ends. 
If we make key decisions, over and over again, based on what we are against, we will be doomed to a perpetually reactionary existence. True freedom will repeatedly elude US. Just US will be divided and conquered. My only appeal in this election season is to vote for someone who your really would be delighted to be President. Consider how your great-great-great-great grand children would have you vote. Can we brave a path that doesn’t leave a legacy of fear? For me, I will, without reservation, be voting for Jill Stein for President. May we all be fearless citizens, and when need be, vote.
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