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.

We the People

The following poem was inspired by this article recently written by the BBC:

We the People

Have come to the conclusion




This cycle of destruction

Is all too much for us

Unacceptably inflated

We must rise to put it down.

Ideas? Why

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

The world.