When shall we wake? 

Shall we wait, wringing our hands,
Until our last child smiles no more?
Shall we wait until he’s gone to war? 
Shall we wait, with a self-righteous tear, 
as last he feels his mother's love,
And ends his life 
in the streets of our City’s 
empty heart?

When shall we wake?

Shall we wait, clicking our tongues 
as the newsman tells of the old woman
who suffered in the cold 
and gave up her will 
beneath the weight of an uncaring world? 
Shall then we mourn? 
And wonder why,
No one came with cup or broth?

When shall we wake?

Shall we wait on our brother’s last breath,
Blaming him, and being aghast 
as his long withered arm, finally turns cold
from his last escape 
into the false sanctuary of powdered greed?
Shall then we say, 
Oh, how sad a place 
the world has become?  

When shall we wake?

Shall we wait, while the unheeded truth
Of the poet and Ancient Sage
are praised for their beauty? 
Yet left for others to follow?
Having ignored their heralded doom, 
Shall we then cry tears, 
remarking in ironic sorrow, 
Oh why, Good Lord, did we not hear? 

When shall we wake? 

Shall we stand instead, with our fists held high
and passioned breath as our voices rise!
Shall we feel the depth of the Poet's Call,
Ensuring at last, 
his warnings and wisdom, 
Expressed in thoughtful eloquence,
Are never again mistaken for nothing more 
than novel prose? 

When shall we wake?

Shall we believe his words of light,
Left long ago on the ancient page? 
Shall we awake and do our part 
to honor a life lived in the search of truth?
Shall we ensure his wisdom,
Is not forever lost
on those who cared to read,
But failed to understand?

When shall we wake?