Hope

If you could see them on the street, so lost on dreary days,

their fading hope yet glowing in the shadows and the grays;

and if you knew what goes unknown, though never hid too well,

that though you pine for Heaven, living millions drift through Hell.

Go see her face, so wrinkled, though she’s only thirty years,

see the gummy man with dripping teeth flowing out like tears,

see the stranger in a hostile land, who cannot speak the tongue,

see a million ancient faces, though still in years quite young.

Do not claim to want to save them, that cynical charade,

nor pretend that there’s a better world waiting to be made.

Those ancients knew the sorry truth, though it’s not very nice,

that all the gods demand from us is human sacrifice.

And if it is a throne of blood, and if it is so cruel,

if it’s a devil’s bargain, either die or be a tool,

what is this human kindness, is there something in it true?

Or just another living corpse that needs something to do?

You cannot tell them what is there, they do not wish to hear,

would rather preach some partial truth for yet another year.

For if you dare to tell them all, there’s none who would believe,

it’s honeyed lies and comfort only ears love to receive.

So there is hope and love for sure, and flowers all that dance,

tomorrow’s yet a better day, and how we love romance.

And if you will work well and hard you will not go astray,

but life is short and art is long, so you must start today.

Our human life has meaning if we give it what we must,

and there’s a space for kindness, human brotherhood, and trust.

You see the smiling faces, that don’t calculate at all,

and every child that is born will stand up proud and tall.

We will surely save the lost ones, every breath we’ll make so free,

and discover every mystery, with open eyes to see.

We shall make a better world, and leave no room for doubt,

we will join in loving freedom with a single joyous shout.

We’ll be so open, honest, and so far the stench of lies;

the troubled stings of conscience will not worry one who dies.

No thought will be of tyranny or a million hands that grope,

for we have quiet certainty in joy and cause for hope.