April, poem a day month, draws to a close with just a few more poems to come.
WE THE POETS.
We the poets
must rise to hold the mirror,
not at romantic moon
dressing trees in silver web
but, at sadness in a child's eyes
helpless face festooned with flies,
the listless look of hunger.
We the writers
must rise to hold the mirror,
not at hopes of superstars
pandering to an ego of selfish greed
but, at misery of the world's maimed
duty done by smart bombs, computer aimed;
peoples crushed by pitiless power.
We the artists
must rise to hold the mirror
not at views from penthouse windows
of meadows green and lush
but, at peoples broken by starvation,
at war, its brother deprivation,
capitalism's bastard twins.
If across the planet as a whole
we don't stand up and play our role,
poet; heart of compassion,
writer; voice of conscience,
artist; eyes of justice,
we've cheated tomorrow's generation,
hurried the planet to extinction.
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