Often confusing

Crumbling

To watch the world crumble,
And see those that claim,
To be your flesh and blood,
Your creed, swing the pickaxes,
Demolishing what little we built,
After the centuries of crumbling before.
Tis sorrow, a sorry mess,
I see before me.
A crumbling soul is mine,
Still with a hope to see a better world,
Maybe not in my time.
And this, no poem of flowery trees,
But an apology rent from my souls pleas,
From crimes not mine, yet responsibility I must take,
Lest the irresponsibility collapse,
This nation, this quiet state.
My silence expected, yet I must cry,
My brothers and sisters are not those that decry,
Their neighbours different, their friends tall,
Those who choose a lovely wrapping shawl.
Tis time to do, but what I know not,
Yet I start here, start now,
From a statement, from an ignorant bliss.