The Union

A sense of history in the making,
And that of enduring pain for it,
With pride of trespassing on road less traveled,
And digression from the prescribed text,
All but there is no blasphemy in the blood.

A fusion of a pair of contrasts,
With legacies of vicious spiraling notions,
That civilizations bore as discordant notes,
And forbid all attempts at crossing the firewall,
The union still is seamless in life and spirit.