We are the many
Though never the much
Pastures of plenty
Of this that and such
Planted which ever we never employed
Devoured in hastiest place least enjoyed
Tempted by myths, convicted by creed
Hope withers variety, sanctifies screed
Corporeal divinity enslavement in need
Unholy trinity - fear guilt and greed
This paean to process, this envisaged bloom
Should neatly, compactly fit anyone's room
Gaze at it elevate it up to the light
For what good is righteousness if not for the right?
And the sounds of its silence speak volumes of loud
The usual can't for the usual crowd
What good there is owning us, all that is touched
Our pastures of plenty -grail, staff and crutch
Satisfied, sodden, spirited lush
Forever the many in search of the much.
Each jewel of a thought
A hope-sprinkled truth
A rare diamond sought
But bright, cold, aloof
Outsides appearances
Insides askew
Believing in everything
Trusting damned few
Weaving illusion
And calling it truth
Worshiping image
We desecrate youth
And rumor has it
Though it's rarely been seen
That the facet of loneliness
Lies faceless, between
Sara Stowell
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-hope-sprinkled-truth-we-are-the-many/
