The Winds Howl Before The Storm

 

 

 

There was once a tree called Justice here

All gnarled but strong with age,

Till a tyrant one night dark, in bitter fear,

With sharpened axe of rage,

Did pile the limbs for all to see,

As he quickly cut it low,

To burn the books of Liberty,

On flames red with murders’ glow,

 

There was once an idea very bold,

Democracy I heard,

Though no one knows, with tales so old,

For they lie with every word,

Dark drops of opium in every phrase they say,

“Have hope, my friends, we truly feel your pain,”

While through the night and through the day,

We wait, in cold and bitter rain,

 

There was once a bell of Brotherhood

That rang loud so all could hear,

From town to town to edge of wood,

But lies silent now with fear.

Cracked, it rests among the tombs,

Atomic ash and dust,

While smiling men in secret rooms,

Plan wars for which they lust.

 

And once there was Enlightenment

And Reason’s voice sang sweet,

Of Rights of Man and truths we now lament,

Murdered with impunity, cut down on every street,

So now we must renew our song,

Our struggle take another form,

For the days run dark, the nights are long,

The winds howl before the storm.

 

We Are The Invisible

poor me

We are the invisible,
The unseen, the unheard,
You know us, by our shadows,
Cast in dark rooms,
By a cigarette’s glow,
Or the sound of our steps,
On an empty street,
Reflections in the sun,
Whispers in the wind,
You know us by our sweat,
You know us by our tears,
Pouring like oil,
Glistening like pearls,
By our songs and laments,
By our heads turned away,
You know us by our hopes,
Imprisoned in the cloth,
The plastic, the steel,
All the things, those others use,
By our poverty, bred of riches,
By our unpaid bills,
Our sleepless nights
Our hollow days,
Our worn-out shoes.