Social Contract by Dr. George M. Gabb

Of dreams I fly of times long gone by

Since my eyes first saw the dawn

Where the thundering of hooves now quiet

After the lions, no longer hungry, lay lazily

And from lush green savannahs to dust driven dens

My mind ravenous with curiosity

I ventured into the powdered white north and tropical paradises

And to this day, without greed, I made neither haste nor waste

I persisted and I flourished

Until the chains of civilization placed my children into bondage

I am judged by the color of my skin

Not by my miracles nor the magnitude of my sins

Though sensibilities would believers of us make

That thousands of years of progress we have made to date

Yet, I am punished for my only offense

The very breath that I take

In apprenticeship of learned men

I thrive, I build, I embrace the art of Zen

From the ruins of Egypt, Rome, and Greece

To the east where live the Persians, the Hindu, the Chinese

I till the soil, mine the earth, and raise edifices that

Sing heavenly tribute to eras gone by

That haunts my soul, enslave my body, and condemn my children

I forge forward frayed conquistador satiated on the sanguine promise,

We will inherit it all

I am judged by the color of my skin

Not by my miracles nor the magnitude of my sins

Though sensibilities would believers of us make

That thousands of years of progress we have made to date

Yet, I am punished for my only offense

The very breath that I take

Obese with the luxury to freely roam

Every crevice of theories, thought, and ideas

We stumble onto each new day unaware of our fortune

Where in gilded homes we rest, we feed, we caress

And in fancy chariots we traverse Eden renovated with cement and steel

The same path today, the same path yesterday, the same path tomorrow

And if we vary we see clearly the empty promise of home

Our caves, our fields, our forests, our streams

Heavy their burden on the children of our Fathers’ dreams

Their lies, our tears, we part at the seams

We divert our eyes, clench our purses, believing this is not me

We are true to form and to history’s recursivity

I am judged by the color of my skin

Not by my miracles nor the magnitude of my sins

Though sensibilities would believers of us make

That thousands of years of progress we have made to date

Yet, I am punished for my only offense

The very breath that I take

I will continue to persist for I wish to do more than exist

I aspire to civility