The Wheel That Steers Poem by jim hogg

This world we've made comes harvesting
its yearly crop of flesh and blood:
our briefest age of ripened thrill,
cut down for dreams that raise or crush.

Though most of us, it seems, believe
we make those "choices" by ourselves,
and all the plaudits we receive,
are conscientiously deserved.

A pretty myth it seems to me,
but I'll concede that all's not lost,
for deep belief can make it real,
by fuelling dreams that drive us on.

And some of that was lodged below
the conscious mind that sometimes thinks
he shapes these lines, although he knows
that notion doesn't quite convince.

The surface isn't all we are.
But all the rest is out of sight:
we hold the wheel that steers the car
while hidden loadings steer the mind.

The arguments will never end,
and evidence will not persuade
the many who believe their strength
is all that's ever shaped their way.

We share the senses of our kind,
but shown a range of clear cut facts,
a few will learn and some will fight,
and that alone should make us ask

the questions that might lead us to,
an answer that may show us how,
our warring tribes can make a move,
towards some kind of truce for now.

But more than sixty years of strife
have left me less than confident.
The coward's kiss, the brother's knife,
the promises of governments,

are likely to persist I'd guess.
Against that background life goes on.
The chemistries of love and sex,
and laughing children, are not gone