Colin F. Jones


~ 1 ~

You can’t see us in our darkness,
only in your own warm light,
For you do not stand in shadows,
only where life is so bright.
But it is us folk in the darkness,
who inspire in you the need;
Candles for your matches,
A kind of origin of your seed.
All your lamps are made by others,
all your torches and your fires,
are inventions of the soldiers,
who allow you to desire,
the bright light you discover,
from the darkness they acquire.

~ 2 ~

You comprehend not our deep anger,
and you frown upon our brow,
that is increased by what you plunder,
without really knowing how.
Oh you, wallow in your riches,
Proclaim the doctrines that you preach,
But we will still sow up your britches,
and provide a penny for you each.
We provide out of our shadows,
the choices that you make,
Give you power for acceleration,
And the pedal for your brake.
We provide in you elation…
but yours is your own mistake.

~ 3 ~

You sing songs with your own voices,
though by others they were writ,
As you exercise the choices,
To stand, or lie or sit.
All given to you by others,
paths paved before your time,
By dead and aging brothers,
who grew the grapes for your wine.
They built your religious churches,
that are now owned by the Priests,
each stone made from each dollar,
that have over time increased.
All the money by the collar,
from the congregation fleeced.

~ 4 ~

Your schools and your colleges,
your work and the food you eat,
Your hospitals and doctors,
The cafe on the street.
The life you live in freedom,
with your pompous rights and laws,
All came from weary soldiers,
Fighting enemies in wars.
So when you see a veteran,
and his anger makes you sad,
Just remember what he gave you,
To make you feel so glad.
For he might well be your brother,
and even your old dad.