Where is God?

What meaning has life?
What meaning to this strife?
When the world is rife,
With corpses rent by bullet and knife.

And we sit in our high towers,
Built by wealth and powers,
Ignorant that the world cowers,
Beneath death’s crimson showers.

Where is this God,
Who says He is shod,
With mercy, love, a straight rod,
Who would against injustice onward plod?

Where do his feet stand?
Or are they running to fulfill his commands?
Or what of his mighty hands?
Are they breaking slavery’s bands?

Where is He in this world,
So in turmoil hurled?
As in agony and death young girls,
Retching, bleed, and like spiders in death curl.

But He is there all the time,
He has given us the means to stop the crime,
Yet we don’t give penny, nickel, or dime,
That we might stymie.

The waves of sin,
That wracks this world again and again.
So the real question is when,
Will we stand up as men?

We are God’s hands and feet,
That we might meet,
Indeed no mean feat,
And someday defeat,

The woes of this world,
Strike down death’s banner unfurled,
That we might downward hurl,
This pernicious serpent who has curled,

Around so many lives,
Lacerating them like knives,
With the necrotic spines he drives,
When will justice, equity arrive!

When we stand up,
And drink the bitter cup,
And realize we must sup,
For this misery is our own sired pup.

Fallen Again

Who are you,
Who am I,
Is this life true,
Or are we just flying high?
Why do we hide,
What’s in our soul,
Is it pride,
Or is secrecy our safe shoal,
Stealth and avarice,
Our fickle friends,
Yet we pay this price,
Every time we bend,
The rules of God,
Every time we go,
Ahead and plod,
Against the flow,
Of who we should be,
Not this sinful fool,
But the true you and me,
No longer drowning in this pool,
Of self loathing and hate,
Drowning self in sin,
But step up to fate,
Become real men,
Become the adopted of God,
Pure, true, strong,
Straight as a rod,
Ready to fight the wrong,
So I will admit,
That I have fallen again,
The bait I bit,
And fell into sin,
I am so weak,
But the Lord forgives,
And I can still seek,
To yet live,
To do His will,
That I might,
Someday kill,
In this fight,
My greatest adversary,
Who lives within,
This natural me,
Who loves sin.

Voices and Choices

Perhaps it is the voice in the darkness,
Survival's cold dark whispered hiss,
Perhaps it is the voice in the twillight,
As the world fearfully slips into night,
Perhaps it is the voice coming at dawn,
Of hope as the night is nearly gone,
Perhaps it is the voice at noon day,
While children Joyfully play.
But perhaps it is the voice that is always there,
This voice that teaches men to dare,
Whether it is day or darkest night,
Whether in comfort and joy in the light,
Or fear and terror of the abyss,
The voice that teaches one to never miss,
A chance to stand for the right,
Though the heavens should fall to darkest night,
This voice that challenges a man,
To do all that he can,
To become better than he was yesterday,
To step forth from mediocrities' gray,
To see the one some day who speaks,
This voice that ever seeks,
To elevate the human race,
That he will take his place,
And will stand upon the sea of glass,
Another graduate of the master's class,
So heed well this quite voice,
And make today, your choice.