…and with a heavy heart
…just a little something
The individual is but an atom
From birth, to acts, to the reaper’s fathom
But the principles they hold to each day,
Those principles keep an infinite sway
We speak in riddles of kind diplomacy
We yearn to have the republic so hopelessly,
Late at night, we siphon through meaningless planks
with no agreements present or ascendant in rank.
So now this night we sit amongst the rubble
My voice bayed tween the teardrops of trouble
With a somber brow, I so humbly greet
As terror perturbs and reigns in our streets
Just like the solemn wind tussles so free,
So goes the murmurs of diplomacy.
Republics begat on the backs of their people
destroyed by the weak and those evil deceitful.
So this night we hope upon hope to endure
Each day stained with a fresher scar than before
Scars from the young graves, from bone and from plight
How dark the sun feels on this bleak August night
My gelid words are just the kind of language,
The preemptive verbiage used in citing anguish
The crudest tool to embolden new theories,
and with simpler words to hearten such furies.
Destructive are the passions promoted by war
And what follows are the griefs that we must endure
We honor the dead, whose boots stomped the floors,
Free of their breath, defending the remnants of some accord.
The effigies of such clockwork soldiers
Hobbled from winter, slouched on a shoulder,
The cleric, commending souls to the deep,
Patriot souls lost for those principles we keep.
I kowtow upon the stained, sanguine dirt
The loam looking and smelling like summer baked earth
And our arms, they were mighty, perhaps much needed,
Or, perhaps, we strayed from the shores of their reason
On wintry nights while my wife lays asleep,
I sneak to the porch, and let the cold bite me deep,
It’s feel is ethereal, ephemeral, and real
tis enough to recognize the cold bitter feel.
But perhaps we strayed too far to depress
And we began to choke on the liberal progress
As their propaganda poisoned, it was easy to see,
in the coming, like hindsight, broadcast as though free.
But we wholly sucked in that stale, acrid air
as their safe zones collapsed our lost, fumbling prayers.
And streets that once thronged with such precious life,
Suffered a plight of such sick, moral strife.
Our resolve, it was written to quick on the sidewalks
in tiny DNA fragments it fell on the bedrock.
What kind of sociopaths were we to be now?
A world bound by blood and many more broken vows.
With anger and fright we stood in the night
Silent and scared with our hands clinching tight.
We watched on the TV, with hope leaving sight
As our Nation did fall to the weakest of might
With no one to blame but our half bitten tongues,
Today marks a year, I’ve hacked from these lungs,
And breathed in the ash from complacent fails
and damned all the carnage to some other veil.
So with a very heavy heart I solemnly stand,
Not as a small spearhead, but a god-faring man.
A person with blood running straight through my veins
equipped with a soul that is burdened and strained,—
No longer should we defer all the pleasure
Of shaking hands for principle, not just for gestures,—
For citing swift justice upon the hateful few,
And letting her thunderous strikes birth us new
So as long as the velvet night shall lend us sleep
I utter these promises that I too must keep
I too shall heed these words whispered clear
Be adamant, be strong and face down your fears.
Let no one begrudge you for gender or skin,
let no one detract how you feel within.
Be proud of your country, the flag and the oath
Be of the solution, be part of the growth.