We're a people
Too oppressively blind
To what's around us,
To the great depression of our time.
Coupled with a New Law,
A religious subordination
Delivering killing blows
To even the humblest aspirations
Of both social and spiritual justice.
The orphan left fatherless,
The widow left comfortless
And the lost left unpursued…
Can we wash our hands of these?
This blessed bride is on her back,
Whoring herself out
To the wolves in sheep's clothing,
The self-proclaimed saviors
On Capitol Hill.
We've lost our way.
And I'm guilty of this too.
I'm guilty of washing my hands
Of the blood, of the pain,
Of the dirt and the stains…
We're a people comfortable in our high castle.
We're afraid to soil our robes, to soil our feet.
We're a kingdom out of touch with the needs
Of the people crying out for deliverance.
We're the worst of the worst
And it cannot be said of us,
"The meek shall inherit the earth."
-Originally written June 3, 2007