Here Upon the Vast Millennium

I wrote this poem in 1999 shortly after my step-father's death and before the New Year. I was melancholy because I felt that many of the goals I had set myself had gone unmet. This was just a glimmer of hope I had for the coming not only new year, new century but new millennium. I wonder if I've gotten any farther.

The Millennium approaches
and I feel pressure upon me
from empty hands that
idle and hurt.
The whispers of dry mouths
thirsting for fruit.

The Earth sits in ink
with amber shining upon it.
Yet her tears splash on dust
and not a drop to spare.

There are gods of many lands
but there a few faithful,
our brother's conscription at hand.
We sleep and it shows approval.

The Millennium is here
and those hands now must move.
Pitiful refugees, malleable charity.
Let us give forth fruit for our people.
Brothers and sisters are we all.
And a thousand years is not long.