Tell us, Lord of History, in the this moment that stands still,
All the truth there is to know, the very bitterest pill.
And don’t hold back or modify your ancient, cosmic plan;
Tell everyone, each holy strand, the destiny of man.
Tell us, Lord of History, was the pain we went through real
As we built and fought and talked to reach each fragile deal?
Are we near the end now, one man, one vote, one story?
Or is there more to come, my Lord; bricks and guns and glory?
Tell us, Lord of History, are the warlords sent by you?
Do you love us, hate us, hate us, love us, pay us what is due?
Are angels double agents, pulling politicians’ strings
And wrecking all the well-laid plans of good-intentioned kings?
Tell us, Lord of History, why do bad men always rise
While the blest and the meek drown in seas awash with sighs?
And why can’t Mother Nature control her heat and gales
While every plan for holy peace falters and then fails?
Tell us, Lord of History, in the anguished scream of night,
Does it give you any pleasure to see our desperate plight?
Explain to us with mystic signs or find your sacred voice;
Is Hell on Earth our destiny or do we have a choice?
by Steve Regan.
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