Damage Done Poem by Brian Stafford

When I think about the crazy things we’ve done,
The timekeeper and the setting sun;
A rocking cradle and the restless nights,
Misspent youth and the pointless fights;
A portly padre’s ecclesiastical interlude,
Many different ways wanting to intrude;
Corrupt politicians evoke a journalistic scribe,
Their selfish plundering words can’t describe;
Sentimental souls and the lost traditions,
Misplaced by fools and interventions;
Where common sense won’t prevail,
And hope and justice have set sail;
The human rights have been decoded,
So some criminals will be rewarded;
The bureaucrats in their ivory towers,
Meddling with other people’s powers;
The same old people in the mission hall,
Won’t be laughing when they get the call;
A forlorn farmer in a fertile field,
Where all the major players will not yield;
When all the church bells stop ringing,
Because of tunes that strangers are bringing;
All the weary and wounded warriors,
And misplaced powers that want to destroy us;
When I think of all the damage that’s been done,
The decaying wood and the restless son.

© 2010
Brian J Stafford