Damian Cranney (27/09/1949 / Liverpool)
Our Brothers keeper
I look upon the dark of night, and go to bed content,
Knowing that, tomorrow l will eat and be replete,
But I know, as you well do, the same cannot be said,
For brothers who will wake unfed, no food to eat,
Or maybe will not rise at all because they wake up dead.
Whose fault is this, the world has plenty, it isn’t me or you,
But yes it is, I’ll tell you why,
Because if we do nothing another one will die,
We cause, their death by our inaction, and here’s a clue,
“For evil to exist, it only needs, good men to do nothing.”
And let us be frank, that is what we do.
A little black girl was crying,
She was hungry of course,
Her mother’s Corpse was lying,
Were the soldiers had left her dying,
The soldiers had weapons of course,
Supplied by a country like yours or mine,
I’m uncomfortable with that,
How are you? Just fine?
Is peace Impossible given the nature of man?
Is our destiny written on some universal plan?
Perhaps our fate is determined and posted on a wall,
'In a drab anonymous office at the end of the hall,
In a Municipal building that we all could go and see
Except that this office is at the end of infinity.
But it is we who control were our future lies,
So we are the architects of our own demise,
We have it within us to emulate God,
Our nature is such That we yearn to do good,
It never will happen, if the result is malaise,
For inaction and apathy, will never win praise.
And that little girl’s dead mother you will not raise.
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