This Year Poem by Mary Champion

How bleak and barren dawns the year,
the muse migrates to warmer climes.
There's nothing moves my pen to write.
In chaos I can find no rhymes.

The same sad woes have always been
and nothing seems to mitigate
the pains inflicted on Mankind
by ignorance and fear and hate.

There's nothing new that I can say
to broaden minds shut down and locked
against all pioneering views.
The streams of progress have been blocked.

My anger muffled by despair,
my hopes are stifled by the weight
of blinkered minds suffused with greed
whose tainted hands control our fate.

To poets who believe the pen
is mightier than any blade
I say, rethink your strategy
or see your hopes of Heaven fade.

We meet to share poetic words
with those who largely share our views,
meanwhile the world turns heedless on.
We never make the headline news.
We never make them stop to think.
We never strip their blindfold eyes.
They never notice we are there -
who cares if we speak truth or lies?

Where is that charismatic bard?
whose Voice will freeze them in their tracks
to make them see the brutal Truth
of what their sterile system lacks.