All the empires of this world will crumble into nothing.
Strident protests of our time will tumble into nothing.
The homeless in the byways, in makeshift cardboard boxes,
hold out their hands in pleas for bread, fumble into nothing.
Young men in search of meaning in empty, shallow hangouts,
find all their courage dashed as they stumble into nothing.
Vibrant women, scarce seen and rarely heard from day to day,
are told to cook, knit, and sew, and humble into nothing.
Growing boys play in the park; they tussle, combat, battle.
Boys! Don’t fight! and watch your manhood rumble into nothing.
Captured girls sold abroad as slaves are going cheap this year;
their hopes, dreams, and aspirations jumble into nothing.
And Bruce? I know my words won’t echo far in time’s good hands.
I hope a crumb or two might not mumble into nothing.
To hear the poem read aloud click HERE.