On Many Sides

Art alone can never be enough
But sometimes art is how we process life;
The road ahead (the road behind) is rough
And I can hear the shrilling of the fife
That whistles to the ears of those who think
That somehow they and only they are real;
Who judge all others by how deep they sink
And claim an injury when others heal.
Our country is a heritage we share
And only in that sharing is it free;
Those who imagine otherwise, or dare
To claim it for themselves exclusively
Disprove their own assertion in the deed
Impoverished by their own ugly greed.