Patriotic

Come fathers, come mothers,
Bring your daughters, bring your sons,
Gather round ye one and all,
Be proud from where you come.

If being called American,
Brings about your humiliation,
Try living someplace else;
The life of another population
You have forgotten all the sacrifice
In this nations foundation and formation.

I came upon a house today,
though most of it had gone away,
and left behind its mossy bones
of listing piers and cracked hearth stones.

So I took a pause for pondering
in midst of random woodland wandering
to think of those who once lived there
where none go now but deer and hare.

My gaze took in a lonesome hollow
and found that it was drawn to follow
up the course of a clear spring
that issued from a small stone ring.

I cannot see her now,
lost upon the turmoil
of Llyr's chaotic ocean
for she is on a journey
time and distance
will not let me follow,
will not let me take her place.

I can feel her determination,
her quiet strength upon the wind,
and I know the fearful doubt
coiling round her mind and heart
for I have languished in
the same darkness unrelenting
the same darkness we have fought.

I like to bluster flapping clothes
To feel the silk of milky snows
It tickles when I twist the leaves
And rasp around the old oak trees.

I like to touch electric wires
Or fan the flames of red hot fires
To giddy up the static tracks
Of atmospheric lightning cracks.

I like to knock the blocking doors
Or lick the dust on dirty floors
To stir the carbon factory smoke
And whisk away the toxic choke.

I remember the love that shone for me
from bright summer-sky-blue eyes,
warm, strong arms that held me tight
in hellos and in goodbyes.
I remember a gentle sing-song voice
encouraging me on my way.
A wisp of a man with a wrinkled, lined face
I loved more every day.

Leaves scurrying across the ground
with a brittle rushing sound
a multi-colored moving cover
they chase each other as if lovers

As colored leaves desert the trees
they ride to earth upon stiff breeze
to join their fellows in the fray
on this windy autumn day

All the trees bend low and sway
and fan the air around today
while their limbs all clap and rattle
adding to the noise and prattle

.
I can feel my grip on the quill
squeezing it out

thick heavy lines
shoved to and fro
splashing words
...splotches of words
...spilt over other words
piling deep

jiggling over miniscule pauses
...dripping
...leaking
then another spew of
blackened spittle
even before the point of it all
trickles into awarness

Beyond accusing anger
and burn of bitterness
wrought from beaten jealousies
of rank contempt
risen in fury and fatigue,
the touch of one hand
caught within another
is miraculous.

So we slowly stroll
across the pale sunlight
of September afternoon,
fingers intertwined,
palms pressed warm,
speaking of long years
spent as moments together.

The words burn, acid on my toungue.
i open my mouth to scream ,
nothing will come.

Mute cries for salvation,
etched in a pained expression.
Eroding my senses.

Struggling against the tide,
drowning in you.
gulping stagnant air.

Obscure muttering, inaudible insanity.
Shadowy whispered tones
asphyxiate mortality .

In stasis, praying for the end.
Tortured psyche,
transcending hell, scant hold on reality.

All is nothingness ,
a swirling mass,
within purgatory.

I am angry
Not just pissed, but disappointed too
No longer exploitable
No longer young
Awareness has overtaken
Naivety of youth

Mind works faster now
Surer now
As body slows down

Lied to
Backstabbed
Crossed
Intentionally
By my government
That does so with impunity

No one to blame
In liars hall of shame
but them all
Running my Mother into the ground
Stealing Her resources for wars
Unfought
Thinking they will never be caught