Lately I am stricken
as the plots to dear and mortal earth do thicken—
kneel, kneel lest it all too readily quicken—
for like the desert winds of old Sahara,
it burns to know the subtle motions Terra
should pass me by to other eras.
Rage, rage the old man writes
yet dead is light at the sour sight
of youth so bitter cast, paralyzed by fright;
where is devotion to seek out age
where privilege become but flesh and cage,
and still the younger cry: engage, engage.
The following poem was inspired by this article recently written by the BBC: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/business-11288744.
We the People
Have come to the conclusion
This cycle of destruction
Is all too much for us
We must rise to put it down.
Whatever do you mean?
It is wrong,
So bitter wrong
But that is all to say
We wish that it were
But have nothing to insist
The prices rise
The people die
And here we sit
These desks, emaciated lie
Between us and