A POLITICAL SONG

A song that is political, like all the songs around

may be beautiful or may be hideous,

like the crimson rose from horse-manured dank ground,

like from lordly leas a fungus odious.

Stanzas, verses, rhymes are not things sacrosanct,

cassock wearing poets ask for ridicule.

One minute you’re serenading feelings sweet, then rant,

bitter about let-downs, disappointments cruel.

Aye, your feelings harsh, vengeful, blasphemous

you may boldly versify in song, alright.

The end has always justified the means for mankind, us.

Just don’t forget to love with all your might!

That’s the truth, like nectar, buried deep in flowers,

drops, of scent and hue too faint to venture out.

Finest verse of poisoned baubles has far weaker power

than a cry to save the murdered, even just one shout.

Yet among those being killed some may have done some killing.

Rub your eyes, to see reality for dust.

Many clouds around, much dark soot swirling, spilling,

just one truth that shines, just one virtue lost.