20181018.0430

I early rise each morning and I make to face the day,
Going through my morning motions in a common way,
Taking time as I have chance to raise my voice and say
My prayers against the Stupid God in small hope to allay
The ruin wrinkled avatars of citrus and small hands
And those who follow after them will work in many lands
In which I am obliged to dwell by the strait commands
Of limited resources such as few will understand
Because they do not care to look about them. Did they so,
They would perhaps have to confront what they’d rather not know,
And in the confrontation have to face the long sorrow
That now their constrained consciousness can too well keep below
The threshold of their notice--where I yet only peek
Because I know that, to face it, I am far too weak
And know not where I ought to go if such strength I seek
To do more to combat the ills than offering critique.