A Poem to the World
© Glenn Dromgoole
An old man, sitting on the shore, gazing past the ships at sea,
Pondering what might have been, wishing how the world should be.
His body bears the scars received from two wars that he believed
Would change the world and make it safe; but now he feels he was deceived.
And why was he the one so spared, blessed with children and a wife,
While others never had a prayer to carry out their dreams in life?
Brave men, no doubt, patriots too, dressed in brown and gray and blue,
Sent to kill year after year for reasons not exactly clear.
And those who died from senseless crimes during this, the best of times,
Passion, anger, greed and grime, victims cut short in their prime.
Now as he gazes from the shore, he imagines he can see
An isle, far on the horizon, people striving to be free
Of meanness and hostility, hatred, animosity,
People coming to this isle to talk together for a while.
People from all breeds and clans, faiths and nations and domains,
It must stop here, it must stop now, is their common new refrain.
With one accord they do proclaim: no more carnage, wasted might,
Sending children out to fight, while mothers cry into the night.
So on this isle of sanity, far from war’s profanity,
They offer words of hope and cheer, kindness and humanity.
They say the generation next has to find a way to cope,
Forgive, not hate, must be the text -- reason, mercy, joy, and hope.
The old man, sitting on the shore, gazes past the ships at sea,
Prays that here forevermore, an old man’s vision comes to be.
