Thursday, July 24, 2008

The Old Locomotive 7-24-08



The old locomotive moves "we the people" on our way.
It's gained a lot of speed from then - until right now, today.
Where is this locomotive? Where is it headed to?
We need to know - for after all - it holds both me and you.

Gold and silver limits us, so those we did not need.
With paper it was easier to satisfy our greed.
Bureaucracy has taxed us all. It taxed us as we grew,
taxes those that sell us food and taxes dishes too.

It taxes every kitchen, every bathroom, every yard.
It taxes every one of us without the least regard.
It taxes all our products and taxes all our goods.
It puts a tax right where we live and even taxes woods.

It taxes every home and car and taxes all our fuel.
It taxes every thing we have - including heat and cool.
It taxes all our income and it taxes what we sell,
and if it had ability could tax its way to hell.

Our borders have been broken and are leaving us so bare,
and then when there's a killing.... do politicians care?
They talk and talk and talk some more and find someone to blame.
but then when they are finally done - continues on the same.

In the dining car we ride - merrily on our way.
Never do we say a word lest we become their prey.
The bureaucrats that wish to ride up in that locomotive,
just do their job oblivious - to legislators' motive.

We go to work to pay some more and ship our kids to schools,
It matters not what they are taught - for we must follow rules.
But when they mess our children up - it's not their fault you see,
as every finger pointing - is at either you or me.

We get accustomed in our rut, accustomed to their cause,
because of fear, accept it all, and do not question laws.
The locomotive speeds along the tracks now ever faster,
but no one has a clue for what becomes a sure disaster.

It glides along so easily as feelings conquer facts,
but all will soon be over when it sails beyond the tracks.
With lifeless bodies everywhere - the poor to those of fame –
at least we all can rest assured - that none will point in blame.

©2008 louis gander ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
http://www.ganderpoems.org/

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Monday, July 21, 2008

This Old Scrap Of Burlap 7-21-08


This big, bright world,
is like a drawer full of lace,
though I feel like a leftover rag;
quite awkward, uneasy,
and so out of place.

Lace is chosen
by those with whom they connect.
and selecting their own special piece;
they want their lives
to be so perfect.

Then stew they will
when things go terribly wrong.
Their lace gets soiled, stained and tattered.
For this worlds special lace
doesn’t last too long.

They’re all sewn up,
still seeking what cannot mend....
But this leftover rag, this old scrap of burlap;
though nowhere near perfect,
is still your special friend.

©2008 louis gander ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
http://www.ganderpoems.org/

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