Do They Come Clean? Poem by Eric Cockrell

at the end of the day,
when we wash our hands,
do they come clean?

homeless people, young girls
sold on the block,
hungry children, AIDS victims,
gotta watch your stocks.

black and white, brown and red,
gunfire and poverty;
kids afraid to go to school,
aint no profit in honesty.

SUV's, invaded countries,
oil doesnt buy liberty.
the takers take, the hurting weep,
at the cost of dignity.

politicians lie, preachers sell
narrow minded philosophies.
prisons full, bodies in the street,
the faces of reality.

smoke fills the air, oil fills the seas,
trade the future for the fix.
unemployed standing in line,
faceless numbers, brick upon brick.

close your door, shut your windows,
turn up the sound....
of anger, despair, and loss....
cries for help as they drown...

tell me....

at the end of the day,
when we wash our hands,
do they come clean?