The brighter sun is set, my friend;
our dim beacon
has lost its glimmer,
is AWOL of its liberty, freedom.
Glorious was its seed-
The ghosts that embraced our land
and people have chosen another creed-
a new way.
Founders saw glory best honored by freedoms
posture not bent in fear-
not upon scattered knees, hands
outstretched yet untaken-
words snubbed short for truth
clogging the earth with murmur-
instead saw fact command.
What burden what is done to us
when guiding principles
count for naught-
truths they now utter in smiling mirrors,
their message lunges forward in murderous night,
lies and lying negate our inheritance.
Now is the hour for us to stand!
Our children and grandchildren need guide
their way out of darkness as ever we our own…
They will feel the shackle of tyranny
and hope for little else
in this harsh temper,
into flowers planted on graves.
Rise up before the sun!
Rise to the trumpet of dawn!
Sleep not the day-
the hours precious peacefulness
in its point.
The truth and freedom are growing weary
with the push of light-
each moment is quieted and undone,
far flung, beyond the reach of hope
and honeyed peace.
The undercurrent quickens-
we’ll not stem a flood, our death.
Do battle our dead reflection toward home of a brighter sun...
W. B. Yeats