Why does the sun dry up so many scattered tears,

Slipping down the coarse cheek of a million hushed fears,

Where no one is scalded though the searing fog clears,

While prayers are mutely spoken even as the end nears.

We shatter and scrape on demented knees,

Blindly begging for mercy as it silently flees,

Searching listlessly for salvation drowned in the breeze,

That spits at the soft rose suffocated by a wheeze.

I know now what I need never have known,

Of hope that was trampled before it had flown,

Into a wasted sky filled with hate that could drown,

The giggling of the crowd and the crying of the clown.

A hope so fragile its wings were of brittle glass,

Ripping the veneer off the sewers of class,

Twisting the fabric of the weighed and costed mass
Who numbly waited hoping that it too may pass.

For when shards of that hope in all hearts scurries away,

To a darkness where crowded night is emptied off the heaving tray,

’Tis then when sewn eyes behold that doleful day,

When all shall tear at each other while on hypocritical knees we still pray.

For a lifting of the veil of that wilful deceit,

That’s wrapped up in a flag swollen with conceit,

While the limbs splinter in the claw of a winner’s defeat,

Yet still the drums roll for the ill-fated souls chose never to retreat.

From that drenched battleground where blood flows through a sieve,

And love’s lost song plaintively begs for a reprieve,

From eternal loss which into raw emotion does cleave,

Only to slip through the fingers and like grains of sand leave.

( for Woody Guthrie and Pete Seeger )