I walk by piles of rubble On a road not really a road And meditate on the trouble Of disharmony's load, Of painful suffering And the impasse that we face, And the sound of falsehood's ring Shunning the hand of Grace. When will the crisis end And the antimony Of those who would pretend All power laterally? I know and I feel the Force Awaiting our advance Beyond the vile and coarse Seemings of circumstance.
Poems Undated (1727)
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