We move swiftly to the call of our great nation Past our half-empty-truths of an infant history Balanced beyond the gaze of Lady Liberty Inundated with the gape of knowing eyes And the weight of truth under the murmuring sky. O! America we are too immediate with judgment, Overwhelmed in our wolf-jawed thinking So harsh upon our dim view of the world; A willfully ignorant Plexiglass shroud Merciless to those deemed an axis of evil. We do not much think of others, save for the dead, Or the not quite living shells of our craving. Have we not urged our soul toward the abyss? To a reckoning if we ignore the plea of fellow man And wet not the desiccated lips of our neighbor? Are we not alive, tasting the future of blazing night, Gazing in awe at the horrific bearing of our despair? That we are estranged of our creation’s intent Should give us bleeding thoughts of providence, Striking our temples in agonizing white-eyed flesh. Let the brown heifer search for the better meadow, The flowers seek out their own seed’s beginning, Waters time to heal of our most warred commodity, Give occasion for all nations to mourn their dead And daybreak to find its way through our mantle of night.
Past our half-empty-truths of an infant history
Balanced beyond the gaze of Lady Liberty
Inundated with the gape of knowing eyes
And the weight of truth under the murmuring sky.
Overwhelmed in our wolf-jawed thinking
So harsh upon our dim view of the world;
A willfully ignorant Plexiglass shroud
Merciless to those deemed an axis of evil.
Or the not quite living shells of our craving.
Have we not urged our soul toward the abyss?
To a reckoning if we ignore the plea of fellow man
And wet not the desiccated lips of our neighbor?
Gazing in awe at the horrific bearing of our despair?
That we are estranged of our creation’s intent
Should give us bleeding thoughts of providence,
Striking our temples in agonizing white-eyed flesh.
The flowers seek out their own seed’s beginning,
Waters time to heal of our most warred commodity,
Give occasion for all nations to mourn their dead
And daybreak to find its way through our mantle of night.
Copyright © 2007 mrp / thepoetryman