Million Dead Father My Father
Father my father, what have you left for me?
What am I to make of this convoluted legacy?
You raised me, ingrained me, led me to believe
that the world had some structure, a bedrock of
honesty.
With this naïve outlook in mind,
imagine then my profound surprise when my eyes were
opened to the reality,
a world built on half-truths and Christian hypocrisy,
where left hands are wrung to deplore all our
poverties,
while right hands dig shallow graves to bury the meek.
What have we learned?
"Do as we say, not as we do, and don’t ask."
Like the students at the Sorbonne in ’68,
I’ve got a conundrum.
I and the letter of the law are agreed,
but the spirit’s not with us in working until "Everyone
has everything they need".
I know what I must look like;
some kind of revolutionary.
But I’m just trying to set some things straight,
to salvage that honesty.
Father, I’ve tried to follow you in what you say and
what you do.
Father I’ve always followed you, I’m everything you
wanted me to be.
Do as we say, not as we do, and don’t ask.
