(x = space)
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Wealth of Nations
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O God
For invocation
Oh, God
To plea
Our world groans
With war
And the imbalance
Of the greedy
Systems
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Justice should be a system
Greed is not good
Unless you’re winning
For a while
While all our cells corrupted
May yet cry for mercy
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The ears to hear
Might be
The last to go
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God
Help us
And forgive us
The Earth is ours
And we forget
And leave it to a few
Who vote for nothing
But self-fattening
And a self-deceiving glimpse
Of real power
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Let all rise
(the poorly-
agendaed, too)
To march
Or stand in place
To sing
As if
Accompanying Earth
With all the antiphons
The spheres above
Below
That glide
And when against each other
Glory in the sacred touch
The music
Of all order
And all chaos,
Arranged
As creation’s gift
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And this is wealth
Not the other
Once we feed each other
And can stand or march
(or sit with age
or disability
and purpose)
To hear the strains
Of everything
And offer ours
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Our gift
Unto the glory
Of Earth
And all-around’s,
Of God’s all
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C L Couch
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Photo by Illiya Vjestica on Unsplash
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clcouch123 
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