by Bob Dougherty
You drew a red line in the sand
and then made speeches, oh so grand.
Evil read your hesitant soul
with blood red carnage as their toll.
Crowds watched you talk as if aglow,
hoping — they would not need to know;
eyes blinded by your mythic dreams,
minds captive to your elegant themes.
When hopes seem always unattained,
then someone else just must be blamed.
Crowds turn to find a reason why.
“It’s that one’s fault”, becomes their cry.
The need to blame, blames not the false,
but takes the just, when justice halts.
Then those who know their payment’s due
tell not the crowds but hide from view.
Now, as the crowds turn on their own,
look back to where these seeds were sewn.
You drew a red line in the sand
and then just talked. You took no stand.
You drew a red line in the sand
and then made speeches, oh so grand.
Evil read your hesitant soul
with blood red carnage as their toll.
Crowds watched you talk as if aglow,
hoping — they would not need to know;
eyes blinded by your mythic dreams,
minds captive to your elegant themes.
When hopes seem always unattained,
then someone else just must be blamed.
Crowds turn to find a reason why.
“It’s that one’s fault”, becomes their cry.
The need to blame, blames not the false,
but takes the just, when justice halts.
Then those who know their payment’s due
tell not the crowds but hide from view.
Now, as the crowds turn on their own,
look back to where these seeds were sewn.
You drew a red line in the sand
and then just talked. You took no stand.
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