In sadness for a nation that has never realized that its greatness relies upon how it treats its weakest…
When a nation rails so virulent
-As if attacking a virus which is not a virus-
And clasps its hands hard together
Cursing the other, the different, the unclean,
In direct opposition to the lady of the torch,
My heart drips tar and pumps crude
Black as the unlit night
For the future of what we have so carelessly cobbled,
Not together, but sadly separately.
Here we hang, lonely, apart, disjointed,
Dancing selfishly among the groves of self-righteousness,
Counting ourselves blithely as persecuted
When we have never smelled the bottom of a boot.
A man, god, told us in the long ago
To inherit with humbleness and thanks and squander not
and compassion toward all.
How short have we fallen now (and repeatedly)
Of this simple teaching, command, direction.
Freedom? Hardly. When the meek are trampled and the
Feast is hoarded – by gorging, bug-eyed masters of nothing -,
And the dogs lick the wounds,
And the small increase in number while becoming smaller,
We have shackled ourselves within ourselves.
Who could say this is the way?
What voice could sing so sour a note?
Who could call us worthy when we turn and refuse
To meet eyes so full of want and stay unmoved?
It will be that this place will fade away…
But weren’t we to make the best of it
Rather than worsen it?