Sad old men
With liquid eyes
Happy to watch
The world go by
Ignoring injustice
In their world
Painting little pictures
In pretty words.
Where are you when
The axe it falls
Upon unworthiness
And help is called ?
Snug within
The quaint four walls
Dreaming that
Youre a poet.
The torture and grief
In frozen eyes
The blood that runs
From political lies
The hungry people
In a land thats rich
Painting little pictures
Your pen to twitch.