Misunderstanding

Here are my words and here is the rhythm
Here are the bullet wounds, revolution, schism
I voice my ideas in this otherworld fantasy
To escape the fear here in my miserable fallacy
With faith like a child the exit appears
But I'm old and grey, stained with blood, sweat and tears

Here me out
I'm like Descartes, without a doubt
About why they pout
And the blood founts,
Tyrants and rapists mount,
Hunger and drought
But I could care less 'cause of my humanitarian clout

The question drilling in my mind is 'Who am I'?
And I defy the simple need
Of my God to do my deed
And somehow Joy and clarity
occur intermittently
I find the two separate invariably...