What I Feel Today

I read him... and I know now.
I am only as good.
Time and chance take the world by storm...
The prize is to the politicker,
The master is the one whom is bestowed graces.
As I realize, a certain politician
Was the only one my dad feared to criticize
As his voice cracks and he tries to sound tough
But I know it is dangerous.
Never were Americans afraid of a president like he were a king.
And eight years ago, the plague had not come,
And I say, "Listen to thy poets,"
But no one does,
As I made popuri out of yarrow
And diligently made sure it wasn't tansy.
The wall of computers now are our hell
And do our deepest thoughts.
The school is for teaching you how to prosper
Not to teach you eternal truths.
And I say, "When shall I be enraptured?
"This is not my America, where the small town must poke
"Rifles out their window, to shoot the mad men from the city
"Who wish to kill the farmer."
And the Country Boys sing of the stars falling
And the Black Boys sing of their father the thief.
I am told it was always so...
Yet Papa was a rolling stone
And there was poetry in our people at a time long ago.
Now the white nigger flashes his wads of cash and glocks
And the country star inartfully sings his war propaganda.
I say... it has not always been so.
For today, more than any other time,
There is no poetry.