under the volcano

we pass the muddy road without a glance
it's just another slum another dismal place
that sits like a small blot on this great space
yet we think that our comfort's no advance
we don't consider the immense expanse
of time and distance that anyone could trace
between our homes and our accepted grace
and these poor folk whose best hope is a trance
there are so many hells and every one is known
to those who have no choice but to endure
the pains and the small joys and all the strife
so many cannot see this though they're shown
that in their hands and minds there rests a cure
and justice has a place in every human life