These Times

These times search for souls the muse can ken With balms for barren bowls Before the empty eyes of starving children. These times here despair prowls Up and down the land of greed, for we learned Nothing from the ants, nor think The seasons could bring us to brink Consequences no statistics could have discerned. These times are not the fault of the weary poor Whose labor makes others wealth And they more dispossesed than ever before. All that power became the stealth That coded language littered about the dry place Whetting tongue of race and class Churning discontent to distract the global space. These times will never bring again old days gone Poets must tell proverbs and lay Like a star mangering for an other-centered dawn The river has washed its banks away O children crawling from the water to desert sands Go past the bitter rock to find The Jordon sperming fruit to vine These times un-singles us ere the coming locust lands