41 in 37

Victory is not mine
Winners don’t speak
They are spoken of
Losers pitied
If she wins
They win
I speak of them before the contest
And they too may speak of me
But not to me
Unless to make me like them
If he wins
They lose
And so does she
And still
Nothing in it for me
As mediator
I have no heart
I feel nothing
Just play the part
Held not lovingly
Between two sides
By forces united
By differences wide
No mention of it
None needed
Youre in this position
As among the top seeded
Much is at stake
As it all burns
Passions
Manifestos
And lessons learned
It all means nothing
Much ado as always
The Indians, Africans
Now sycophants gays
Cause its not about ideas
But blindness and fears
You’ve lived it for years
And not one of them cares
So don’t waste your tears
And leave without shares
In 37, 41 like the plural of deer
Its the same but different.