I tried to hit the bottle,
got lost in soaps on my T.V.
swallowed all the tablets
and mainlined therapy,
but still I cannot shut my eyes
to injustice, fear and pain,
the needy keep accusing:-
their empty eyes contain
a catalogue of our failures,
war, avarice and greed,
hypocrisy and righteousness.
The love of self our only creed.
  

The pious who would ban abortion
condemn an unloved child,
the quest for profit sets the price
as crops rot in the field.
A pharmaceutical panacea
may help us through the day
but there's no profit to be had
from curing a poor man's plague.
The rising waters ridicule
the mighty S.U.V.
and every lifestyle magazine
destroys another tree.
 

So here I stand conscience in hand
to ask what I can do?
This world we made points all to trade,
the exit routes are few.
Try to understand those who demand
far more than their fair share
commit the poor for evermore
to squalor, want, despair.
 

Its time to eat the bitter fruit,
to face the truth at last;
each continent has been exploited,
the golden age is past.
The worm within the apple
rotted it to the core.
Poison flows right through the system
from the mountains to the shore.
The fearful cry to heaven,
but heaven turns away,
only the brave can hope to save
the environment's decay.
 

copyright © Ian Thorpe, 2004
 

Poems on a similar theme
Feel the burn
http://www.authorsden.com/visit/viewpoetry.asp?id=197501
The Offcomer
http://www.authorsden.com/visit/viewpoetry.asp?id=191753
54 Degrees North
http://www.authorsden.com/visit/viewpoetry.asp?id=173795
The Young River
http://www.authorsden.com/visit/viewpoetry.asp?id=164371
Peccavimus
http://www.authorsden.com/visit/viewpoetry.asp?id=126839

 
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