The Song Of The Mourner

This piece speaks of the need for writers to be united in being a voice calling out for change amidst the present unpleasant realities of our time.

We roar and rage and cackle and scream,
We wear and tear our emotions down the stream
We glow with pride yet bath in low self-esteem
We clamor for power, yet become the predators' dream.

Our fame we throw like papers to the wind,
Our shame we cling to like fetters none will grind
What little honor is left, we tan with dyes of anger
And then we're stripped bare, like donkeys in a manger.

We hear our many voices, like birds by a brook
And wish they were beautiful, like melodies from the lyre
But hoarse and breathy - like voices of crooks
Heading to their doom, going down the mire.

If we were true voices, we'd speak to the ills of the day
And slash pens on papers, calling off the bluffs of our day
If we were society's conscience, we'd sheath our gruesome machetes
And hand out piece meals of peace in small little sachets.

Oh! That our unity may return, like soldiers on the battlefield
Holding the fort, helping both the weak and strong
Oh! That the drums of glory will be heard in the fields
And we joyfully dance again with all the happy throng.
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