THE NATION OF THE DOWNCAST EYE

(Farewell Western Man)

 

We are the nation of the downcast eye,

We guard our thoughts and tongue.

Ours is the mean and the sullen tribe,

For we know that their trap has sprung.

 

We know full well though we dare not tell,

That we live by the rulers' creed,

He will dull the blade and relax the rein,

And he'll curb and will mix our seed.

 

We are the folk who are penned by law,

It's the curb for the men who could,

And we always note that the sweet refrain,

Will be claimed for the common good?

 

Ours is the lot that may come and go,

We are free ~ so our rulers say.

We break our hearts; it is not the same,

Our tongues are tied, our feet are clay.

 

You may hear our laugh but it's not like yours,

For it’s dulled by the cynic's thought.

And the smile is not in the eyes you see,

It is fixed by the victor's court.

 

Some are fair but no longer rule,

Some are old but they're young at heart,

We're now the folk of the shifty eye,

And we speak of the fraud as art.

 

We are the tribe of the fettered tongue,

And our mirror-minds will tell,

Of the rulers' view that it's good for you,

And we find that they pay us well.

 

So the young who spring from the loins of men,

Of the nation of the downcast eye,

Are the slaves to another thought and whim

But they live only when they die.

 

Michael Walsh Poetry
28.05.2021

AT LEAST I TRIED

 

Where are the men the nation needs,

Who’ll not be still when nation bleeds,

Who’ll never kneel or sell their soul,

Who die in cause of people freed.

 

Freedom’s door has but one key,

The point of sword is there to free,

Those men with fire and burning soul,

Who know not fear and never flee.

 

Pity those who cheat, and lied,

Scorned the men before who died,

Blessed are men whose final words,

Are pity me, at least I tried.

 

Michael Walsh Poetry
29.05.2021