Small people with little minds,
Sitting on their big behinds.
Operate within narrow confines,
Of carefully drawn, fine lines.
Trusting in heritage and experience,
To lead their way, never seeing,
Any bigger, broader way,
Caught in their, little day to day.
They're so sure, quick to fight.
Slow to think, and see the light.
Locked in games of their own design,
Never experiencing another paradigm.
Little thoughts in narrow minds.
Untraveled, inexperienced and unsung.
Making sure that "I's" the one.
Tight, small world not to be undone.
But when the world comes crashing in,
Will small people lose or win?
Will they die with all the rest?
Or will they rise and pass the test?
Copyright 2003 © Ronald W. Hull
Read War's End, the Novel