Around # 3 Poem by Eric Cockrell
Around # 3
the hand of God, the hand of fate,
where do you cast the blame?
humanity, cursed by apathy,
acts of murder in God's name.
national pride, guess what they lied,
putting money in the bank.
bombs falling, terror crawling,
putting gas in the tanks.
and the world comes crashing down.
in too deep, the fearful drown.
stand up and be, or just sit down.
what goes around comes around.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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12/19/2025 5:15:28 AM # 1.0.0
Great poem again. Money is always the root of it all. Great write.