We all have our very own demons to fight
very often we face those demons at night
when we, all alone, struggle in darkness
there is no weapon no friend nor solace
to ease the treacherous battle that wages
in our aching hearts we write empty pages
we live in a poem that attempts to express
what we have to offer the world it’s our best
which isn’t good enough to earn a days pay
Says some lucky fool who counts beans all day
We find the need to escape.
“The world owes a living” they say is not true,
but what God freely gave to me and to you
is fair game to deprive from the hungering masses
how John Locke defined sin, suddenly passes
for the basis of law, economic devotion
stirring have-nots overcome with emotion
It’s not just Jihadis come from abroad
killing themselves to protest this strange God
our very own sons, and the fruit of the poppy
a strange addiction that is too often copied
Not even a Boxer can stop
Vote if you want to see change affected
they say as they promote the discord suggested
and invisible masters pull on the strings
your vote gives them power, the very same thing
they say is your freedom, which nobody needs
a rifle or sword, this machine feeds
on fear and division, on drugs hate and lies
some very nice people one comes to despise
how they act when they see that their Lucre is threatened
and doubt the intentions of everyone mentioned
Lets build a giant wall!
We blame all our troubles it seems on outsiders
which is simpler to swallow than facing the fires
that burden our heart, (must be something we ate)
and so we build community on hating the hate
No different than when we persecuted witches
real people that we simply thought were just bitches
or obstacles in the way of our progress toward more
and we sacrifice a few to the way of the whore
or the pederast church, our ethics be damned
know thyself, change thyself, if you call yourself “man”
These go by other names today.
I’m not superstitious, but my mind can’t escape
the idea that I’m left with a bill for mistakes
and sins committed by those long ago:
“let my children reap the seeds that I sow”
and “its none of their business what jollity I’ve had”
thus whole generations are lost or gone mad
be it ISIS or pot-heads, the church or your job
Everyone feels that they have been robbed
We long for the zombie apocalypse horde
(which we’ll fight with our video game skills of course)
glued to a screen we’re numb to the worst
of everything that is real.
Those screens numb our conscience - feed our soul on a diet
that leads to eventual starvation, not riot
for which we give thanks when we probably should flee
but we have lost our innate sense of irony
for Facebook is full of social media critics
their message: they use social media to spread it
and the manager enforcing the rule that he hates
or a stock portfolio unequally spreading the weight
our money to work for others we put it
their sudden misfortune is our sudden profit
Someday we’ll comfortably retire.
But the deepest of sins with age more abounds
“I had to go through it … with no-one around”
in self-congratulation we heap up the burden
on those who would follow, for we must be certain
of things we know not of ourselves, lest we ask
but we don’t and we can’t we’re not up to the task
Seniority, Wisdom, Experience we claim
while limiting your right to do the same
Protectionism in the guise of a certificate or license
the competent are summarily excluded, and thence
we cannot find a leader
The blind carry on boldly with their walking
adventures and vistas they paint with their talking
but little they know for they chose to forget
the other senses which they’ve not lost yet
I’ve heard it myself; write him off: “He’s no good.”
do drugs and get murdered they’ll help shed your blood
she deserved it, he got what was coming his way
to assuage the guilt of the part that we play
for sin is not things that we do, it’s a place
and we quite like the custom of the rat-race
As long as we think we can win
But give of yourself so to others be kind
(they preach it but try it and soon you will find)
Put yourself first is what truly is meant
and with a turn of the wheel another future is spent
Will people live up to the image inside
seems doubtful so long as the devils astride
and so the way that seems all too treacherous:
to not sear our conscience and too become lecherous
This of our life, is the goal in large part
not to manage our actions but instead guard our heart
I think I am failing
All of creation it groans as in birth
expecting to see something else “good” spring forth
As long as we keep looking out for ourselves
we’ll all be alone as a sheep among wolves
If we could just see that in caring for others
we gain the strength of millions of brothers
the world would be saved, redeemed if you will
God if he’s there is a humanist still
and that there though ridiculous it seem,
though it die like an ember, my very last dream
that good still exists.
