This poem travels the paths of the slaves, Indians, the ones in poverty, and the lack of mercy. Throughout this poem pain is the repeating essence. America is filled with beauty, but the suffering faced is silenced.
America, home of the free, prideful; a place of opportunity
Those words fill my head, like the dread our slaves felt with no end.
True love brought from the lost pieces buried in the rubble of their hope.
But this is America… Home of the brave.
Hunger rests upon the shoulders of those too weak,
Yet the greed of our nation is shown when B*E*T* gets broadcasted more than those on the street.
Even the cold is a silent epidemic only the infected can see,
Solely receiving heat from their ovens when they’re cooking.
We pioneer the already found.
Taking them from their normal grounds, exotic views tank their old visions;
Forgetting the foundation of their origin as time progresses.
Yet, they made this decision?
Perseverance seems strange, or not in range for a nation filled with holy names.
Personas parade masked, and numb in a city
That does not care for the pain that remains.
Even the most guarded civilian has their gloomy days.
But, in America nobody asks if you’re okay
Rather just go about their day, repeating to themselves you’ll eventually find your way.
Clemency has always been a foreign word in a nation that is based on others creation.
We find validation in the blood of our lost; Even though we were the cause