Hindsight

In hindsight, I see it's corrected,
With the good and bad men's motives now fully erected;
The good men aren't always those who are elected,
Yet their moral compasses find no extreme connected.

In hindsight, my blindness dissipates into sense;
Perhaps it is make-shift,
But it's worth my two cents,
So your questions of credit, or crimes to be commit,
Find themselves discovered by those who now sit
In a room of deep silence,
Or the buzz of white-noise;
Hindsight reveals all lies, and recreates all old ploys.