POETRY PAGES

To "The People"

by T. Hubbard

I love this country like I love my wife,

I love this land like I love my life,

but that ain't the America they play on TV

that ain't the America we let the world see,

and I'm just not so over VietNam,

to pick war back up and do it again.

I love these  mountains like they were the only ones,

I love these trees like they were my only sons,

but that ain't the America that's under the gun,

that ain't the America that fights a war that's never done,

and I ain't convinced the rats don't run the show,

for my children I tell you "Hell no, we won't go!"

I love these people like I love a song,

I love this freedom, and that was never wrong.

but that ain't the America referred to as "The Law"

that ain't the America of the fourty hour draw,

and there's no reason under the sun to trust our s/elected kings,

Let them be the first in battle, wouldn't that change the air of things?

Can't you see behind the veils of intended misdirection?

Don't they know that with all the pomp and patriotic rhetoric,

(of course making good use of the tragedies close at hand,)

we (the people) are not really fooled, and the wind still blows where it will?

Will we encourage the sacrifice of our children, once again

to enforce and maintain error throughout the world?

(fodder for those who profit in the deadly game of war,)

The rich must be defended, and the "right" of  property must prevail.

Do you really believe in the exchange of your life?

Is it really worth all the hours, days, weeks, and years?

Are your wages equal to the Presidents? Is their time worth more than yours?

Do their eyes have saltier tears?

A wake up call was issued long ago, but as a race we must be half deaf,

'cause the message keeps getting louder all the time,

and it'll keep on getting louder, 'til none of the sleepers are left

They say it is our national christian duty, by word, example and deed,

to cry for revenge of those forever lost to us,

in berserker rage, rains of  fire and destruction, and bloodthirsty zeal.

To murder those who murdered us, who were murdered by somebody's ancestors,

who were murdered in revenge for their preceding murderousness,

which was revenge for having been murdered.

Alas for those who would continue to uphold the illusion of fine cloth

hiding the emporers' scrawny nakedness,

THE CHILD SEES. THE CHILD SAW. HE TOLD US. WE KNOW.

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