(This poem-a-day series, incidentally, will probably only be a two-week one -- unless it just keeps going on its own, of course.)
Cracks in Tradition
The greatest foe of legacy
that springs from foolish men
is not the raging army
that raises such a din;
it's not the sands of ages
as they pour in strands so thin,
but so-called friends and lovers
corrupting from within.
A tradition lasts for ages
and forms both kith and kin;
it stands like stone and iron
when the raging storms begin;
but a fort immune to sieges
can fall from spineless men
and so-called friends and lovers
corrupting from within.
The one who rushes from his post,
thinking thus to win;
the one who cries "Peace, Peace"
to cover up his sin;
one who runs, or one who hides,
from fear of blood and din:
yes, so-called friends and lovers,
corrupting from within.
Lord, from lying to ourselves,
please deliver us with grace,
from falsehood on our tongues
and from falseness in our face,
from carelessness and smugness,
from rashness born of pride
and from stabbing in the back
the defenders on our side --
for a fort immune to sieges
can fall from spineless men
and so-called friends and lovers
corrupting from within.
