The hands of power are far-reaching,
And often clasp what’s long been held
In trust, in spirit, in faithful stewardship
A realm where mystery and stories dwell.
Stretched out, no less
A cold caress…
To finger, test, and then molest.
Hidden valleys carved out by the flow of sacred knowledge
Passed from one generation to the next.
The song of power thunders
And leaves humility shaking in its wake
From turrets placed high –
Calls not to prayer,
But to the neon altar where we lay our money, our humanity, our compassion, our best.
A bleeding wallet pulled from the chest,
Find your way ‘round Wal-Mart’s the new vision quest.
It is the song that repeats in one’s mind,
Carried on the winds of exchange and opportunity
A powerful song, sung well by a few
Heard by the voiceless multitudes.
The arms of power like steel can bend,
And crush the needless obstacles
Who dare defy and question why
Such force does not relent.
Mountains moved, and cynics squeezed
The pumping heart of justice ceased.
Leaving naught but galactic biceps
And the lonely space between.
And yet,
The hands of power are large, and can give when will exceeds
The song of power lingers, and carries our good deeds.
And…the arms of power worlds unearth
that we may plant our changing seeds.

-Russell Fayant