A poem cannot enflame a man to break
the chains which bind him to his barf-yard muck.
But rightly read, a poem can help to wake
a mind that starves for just one chance to pluck
the parasites that bleed it's will. To make
small tweaks and gains can help unconstipate
one's conscious out-reach for a grander state.
Like parakeets, men sing with short clipped wings,
and now are deaf to whispers from deep Grace.
This leaves their souls un-hungry for higher things,
to root about like cellar rats, and chase
life's dregs, then rage from the shadows of kings.
The problems facing men are quite profound.
Versed parables, mark paths to holy ground.