Old Wold New ~ Philip Brent

Generosity of spirit flies, fills the world
Each giving to the extent of their ability
Each receiving to the level of their need
Not a social utopia; humanity’s maturity

May we be allowed to mature, can it be
Children now, bullies, rules a fluid tome
One way only, our rules, toys, hill, tree
If you object, we’ll take our stuff home

Or stay; we’ll grind you beneath our heel
Power, guns, money bind you unto death
Our brows fan, skins oil, and grapes peel
Smile, cosset, love us till your final breath

We will do our best to keep you confused
We truly cannot have you figure things out
You sharpen knives; know how they’re used
We’d rather have you kill the other louts

We will keep you at each other’s throats
Religion, race, politics, drugs and movies
Succumb to one; don’t count the votes
Kill or pray as your deity, faith decrees

We always take, while pretending to give
If it makes our lives better and eases guilt
What you get can’t be found with a sieve
We nosh caviar off plates rimmed in gilt

If you think you have noticed a discrepancy
We will buy you off; our reserves are huge
Please don’t mature and recall you are free
Since we would be swallowed in the deluge