O lost, O found, O lost again

I am the poet, uncertain,
claiming a lineage to an America, unfounded,
 
for when morning break,
and judgment comes a callin,
 
where shall we be?
o lost, o forgotten,
 
those of us who remained silent,
when unhappy courage called,
 
those of who were carried arrogance,
as we walked over those who ask for
 
our scraps, of rotting food,
as we claimed cheap grace as out crowing glory,
 
Why, America, are you so lost,
the huddles masses afraid to walk point,
 
we allow philistines to lead us,
yet we are numb to the cries of our fellows!


Copyright, William "Wild Bill" Taylor, June, 2003