The History of Man
Each man must consider,
Near end of his days,
The ways which he did things.
Those ‘politic plays.’
This happens. It must.
Young warriors grow old.
A hist’ry is needed
To tell of the bold.
Our Great History’s check'd
Here-and-there with sad wrong,
But ever did some heroes
Sing the right Song?
Americans all, with
Our wants and our fears.
But some told the story…
A trail full of tears.
“Conductors” of then saw
The Wrong in one plan,
The owning of people,
The hatefull of Man.
The land of the free
For all "gentry" with land?,
The home of the brave for
“the landed,” not branded.
While my old-young Dark Brothers gave
More than their task,
But never the kindness
Of history asked…
-- Filled graves just
As well as the last-- And
Scarcely cried out as their blood mingled full
With “Eight-fifths-weighted” white blood.
The politic fool.
What tell we our children
Of the sins of our past?
Will we subjugate hist’ry
And hope it will last?
Or teach them the ken
Of our ultimate weakness?
The rotting dust has-“bin”
So Hateful of Man.
Or sing loud that hist’ry
Though/through many not right.
Don’t hide from our weakness,
Shine hist’ry on light.
We learn from our sins
As the Song keeps up pace.
(A mother’s new soldier scoots
Chair into napkin-set place
At the gluttonous gin of
Man’s meat-grinding race.)
Our soldiers and sailors,
The airmen, their wives,
Fight on for a concept,
Stand up with their lives.
Yes
History is written by he who survives. But
Writers, in writing,
Have done nothing wrong.
They’ve just tried to pen
A few notes in the song.
…“The perpetual gin
Of young heroes made gone.”
Each man “must consider.”
But it’s hard when you’re young
To take in the wholeness
Of songs not yet sung.
Our girls grow to women.
Will our boys rise to men?
The 'Song' is unfolding
By History’s pen.
The Old Guard will pass, and
The daughters who can,
Will have to make sense of
The Hateful of Man.
More wars will come swiftly
And others wind down,
'til Man re-considers
The ‘politic clown.’
Until we cast all of our foolishness down.
Conduct me now, Writers,
The days of my span.
I can't drink this cup anymore thay you can.
My children inherit
The Hate-full of man.
-poem by Robert Wright
I reply to my own post. I think my poetry is not very good, doggerel most likely. But I want to make it clear that my poem is not designed to disparage any member of the military, past or present.
It is only what it says it is, a picture of human nature as I have perceived it.
Warm Regards,
Rob
Each man must consider,
Near end of his days,
The ways which he did things.
Those ‘politic plays.’
This happens. It must.
Young warriors grow old.
A hist’ry is needed
To tell of the bold.
Our Great History’s check'd
Here-and-there with sad wrong,
But ever did some heroes
Sing the right Song?
Americans all, with
Our wants and our fears.
But some told the story…
A trail full of tears.
“Conductors” of then saw
The Wrong in one plan,
The owning of people,
The hatefull of Man.
The land of the free
For all "gentry" with land?,
The home of the brave for
“the landed,” not branded.
While my old-young Dark Brothers gave
More than their task,
But never the kindness
Of history asked…
-- Filled graves just
As well as the last-- And
Scarcely cried out as their blood mingled full
With “Eight-fifths-weighted” white blood.
The politic fool.
What tell we our children
Of the sins of our past?
Will we subjugate hist’ry
And hope it will last?
Or teach them the ken
Of our ultimate weakness?
The rotting dust has-“bin”
So Hateful of Man.
Or sing loud that hist’ry
Though/through many not right.
Don’t hide from our weakness,
Shine hist’ry on light.
We learn from our sins
As the Song keeps up pace.
(A mother’s new soldier scoots
Chair into napkin-set place
At the gluttonous gin of
Man’s meat-grinding race.)
Our soldiers and sailors,
The airmen, their wives,
Fight on for a concept,
Stand up with their lives.
Yes
History is written by he who survives. But
Writers, in writing,
Have done nothing wrong.
They’ve just tried to pen
A few notes in the song.
…“The perpetual gin
Of young heroes made gone.”
Each man “must consider.”
But it’s hard when you’re young
To take in the wholeness
Of songs not yet sung.
Our girls grow to women.
Will our boys rise to men?
The 'Song' is unfolding
By History’s pen.
The Old Guard will pass, and
The daughters who can,
Will have to make sense of
The Hateful of Man.
More wars will come swiftly
And others wind down,
'til Man re-considers
The ‘politic clown.’
Until we cast all of our foolishness down.
Conduct me now, Writers,
The days of my span.
I can't drink this cup anymore thay you can.
My children inherit
The Hate-full of man.
-poem by Robert Wright
I reply to my own post. I think my poetry is not very good, doggerel most likely. But I want to make it clear that my poem is not designed to disparage any member of the military, past or present.
It is only what it says it is, a picture of human nature as I have perceived it.
Warm Regards,
Rob
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