I could write a poem

I could write a poem,
But what would be the point?
The poems have all been written.
There’s nothing more to say.

I could sing a song,
But why would I do that?
The songs have all been sung;
I’ve nothing more to add.

I could change my world,
But who would even care?
It wouldn’t change the rest of it.
The world would carry on.

I’m just another no one,
Eight billion of us strong,
And if I nudge once, here or there,
I won’t move but a hair.

And yet — and yet — and yet — and yet —
If I give it a go,
Someone, somewhere, may listen
And think, “That sounds like truth.”

Could be the great ship starts to turn,
The train begins to stop,
And somehow, sometime years from now,
A change will slowly come.

And so I’ll write myself a poem
And I will sing a song.
I’ll start to change my world today
And see what happens next.

Nothing new under the sun

A Facebook friend posted this Wednesday, and I had to save it. As you may know, I’m collecting a bunch of my anti-war thoughts into a book called War IS the Crime: Reflections on Peace and Nonviolence. No way I can put it out without including this poem somewhere.

It’s by Julia Ward Howe, also known for writing “Battle Hymn of the Republic.” She also wrote this poem. In 1870.

Here we are, 154 years later, and the pain and the sentiment are still relevant.

It could be that, 154 years from now, nothing will have changed.

But a guy has to try. Watch for the book.