Pedigree

All that we depend on comes from our name.
We had it all; now, with nothing to gain,
Our blessings are counted, fallen to shame.

Without ever knowing from where we came,
(Long have we forgotten this mark of Cain)
All that we depend on comes from our name.

Our parents, the glory, black small-town fame:
Bourgeois and lavish, abated by stains,
Our blessings are counted, fallen to shame.

Once wild, then finding the means to be tame,
We played the game, and always felt the rain.
All that we depend on comes from our name.

And then, we turn on each other to blame,
Wonder why anger never soothes the pain:
Our blessings are counted, fallen to shame.

We rose so high and were silenced the same.
These boils of hatred bubble and remain.
All that we depend on comes from our name;
Our blessings are counted, fallen to shame.  

Copyright © 2009 by Ivan Lett