Graffiti rhyme

No role might I play in the gray of this day
That would be better suited

Than to stand 'gainst the tide, miles wide, tongues that chide,
My feet firmly rooted.

To belabor my neighbor will earn me no favor.
Already we've feuded.

Eyes moist, lonesome voice, left no choice,
But speak out, to be hooted.

My words, now absurd, someday will be heard,
As treatise of Euclid.

Desolate scrawl on the wall says it all:
"time is fluid"