Your World My Lord
The train moved swiftly through the night,
O'er rivers, fields and glens.
The girl was rocking in her sleep,
Smiling every now and then.
Though the rags that she wore on her body,
Had seen many a better day.
She had been told by her daddy,
It had been destined for them that way.
'My Child', he would say,
'Though I love you more than anything in my life,
What can I do - my darling - my sweetheart,
When even God doesn't see how we strive.
I have to work hard each day,
In order that we may,
Get a little bit to eat, before we go off to sleep,
And we pull through another day'.
This World's been moving through time,
Through nuclear explosions and hell.
We've come a long way, since the gold rush days,
Yet for gains our daughters we'll sell.
The sons being raised by their daddies,
Would have seen many a better day.
Had they not been groomed to be baddies,
To steal, to rape and to slay.
O my Lord, don't you see,
How this World that you've made needs advice?
Show us the path, the way it should be,
Sans avarice and malice and vice.
We've slaughtered, abused and we've slayed,
Our morals have blown in the glade.
Please give us the sense, to get out of these dense
Dark clouds of Hades we've made.
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Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (Your World My Lord by Dipy Hermonite )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
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