Tarry

My thoughts often drift take me to a place within space, where grown men are ashamed to show face.
With heads bowed and heavy brows they toil in heat, yet their families suffer for lack of sufficient meat.
As we dance to the rhythm of life someones infant, won't awaken tomorrow, for the journeys to distant.
Awaiting death patiently, the whole village grieves, all too familiar with loss due to man made dis-ease.
We complain were not truly free, set up to lose, yet there's oh so many willing to fill our shoes.
And it burns deep within when on ponders these sorrows; many lands have been stolen, while the treaties claim borrowed.
Bombs over Baghdad left little ones legless, families homeless, and government puppets.
How can one rejoice in such pain and confusion?, as we bitch and moan "broke" with our breakneck consuming.
Boasting and flaunting our model society, yet seen globally as the benefactors of piracy.
Places where life is hard and all folk have is god, no house to come home too, just sun moon and stars.
And its odd when one sees the vast wealth of the earth, but greed makes men gather, and refuse to disperse.
I oft wonder how world leaders rest sound at night, while knowing their plundering causes such blight.
And love is a myth among the poverty stricken, mischief's often an outlet for the pain that lies within.
The crooked man prospers as the just seems to suffer, how long will G?d tarry before he redeems mothers.
Who've sold themselves for means to survive, men are dead or at war, there's none else to provide.
And I sigh, yet with hope every morn I arise, thinking, this be the day we com to value lives, and if not, then I'll start here myself all alone, knowing somewhere, someone, will reap what's been sewn.