For My Father For My Son

This world was never a home For me or you It passed within, Reaching Then through us, Collected its wages And was gone. It did not decide to be "for" Or "against" us It had no real will of its own It did not pray for us Or provide a license For its transitory amusements. It was full of fear and longing Long before we were gifted With reason. And its "goodness" Turned a more sever judgment A more complicated contract Then its "passion" Or its "ignorance" Against us, Just to mock our Meager attempts To be kind and tolerant. And now On this fully furnished planet The heart turns cold And wicked Not against the outcast But the smiling merchants Of what is correct Always trying to improve you Tell you what to think or eat How to behave Saturated with admiration And false prestige They are less than the prisoners We have become Unto the Lord at least our lives are glorious Our souls survive.