America, America

by Bianca Delarosa

 We call ourselves the free,
 but we cannot free ourselves.
 Open secrets,
 hidden in plain sight,
 dusty tomes on our shelves.
 Our society is ill,
 in disarray.
 who are you today?

Police state holding the mighty men,
 safe in their keeps.
 Looking down upon us;
 lowly peasants and sheep.
 Power to the people!
 The words, so strong,
 are but air, from our lips.
 Words are merely wind;
 but wind powers ships.

Old men molded the world,
 and shaped the past.
 They wrote the history,
 they won at last.
 But what man has made,
 was not made to stay…
 The old days are dead,
 Yet they haunt us this day.

Don’t tell me what you were,
 or what you’ve done.
 How much you’ve taken,
 how much you’ve won.
 Your money,
 your might,
 you own the day!
 we are on our way.

Old wounds not healed,
 have blistered
 and burst!
 Our souls cry out
 in desolation
 and thirst.
 A lustful hope,
 a needful want,
 that on a summer day….
 will change the way….

We use and abuse,
 rig the game to lose,
 separate the browns from the reds,
 the pinks from the blues,
 the lights from the darks,
 with the blacks put away.
 Oh, America,
 the games you play.

Time for us all
 to reunify the race
 there is but one –
 the human
 same face.
 Together we are one;
 but separate,
 just dust.
 America or bust.

America, America by Bianca Delarosa

© Copyright 2014. All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be duplicated or copied without the expressed written consent of the author.

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