They say there is only one way for politics:
That it looks with cold eyes at the hard world
And shapes it with a ruler’s edge,
Measuring what is possible against
Acclaim, support, and votes.
They say there is only one way to dream
For the people, to give them not what they need
But food for their fears.
We measure the deeds of politicians
By their time in power.
But in wiser times they had another way.
They measured greatness by the gold
Of contentment, by the enduring arts,
The laughter at the hearths,
The length of silence when the bards
Tell of what was done by those who
Had the courage to make their lands
Happy, away from war, spreading justice,
Fostering health,
The most precious of the arts
Of governance.
But we live in times that have lost
This tough art of dreaming
The best for the people,
Or so we are told by cynics
And doomsayers who see the end
Of time in blood-red moons.
Always when it is least expected
An unexpected figure
Rises when dreams here have
Become like ash. But when the light
Is woken in our hearts after the long
Sleep, they wonder if it’s a fable.
Can we still seek the lost angels
Of our better natures?
Can we still wish and will
For poverty’s death and a newer way
To undo war, and find peace in the labyrinth
Of the Middle East, create prosperity
In Africa, and reverse climate change
As true ways to end fear
And the feared tide of immigration
And bring greater harmony to our world?
We are dreaming a new politics
That will renew the world
Under their weary and suspicious gaze.
There’s always a new way,
A better way that’s not been tried before.
A way that becomes a fable.