The Glory of Things Passed

Like a great flight of stairs based in the center of a garden,

Sturdy, beautiful, glimmering, their nobility ardent.

Our history a great mystery filled with tales of glory.

So noble a desire for greatness though at times gory.

                                                                                                                                      

But hirer up marble turns to brick then metal, then plastic.

Ideals and code that were once solemn are now sarcastic.

What honor is there left in our lords of the land of the free?

Principles left for agendas and us in poverty.  

 

That orchard at the bottom becomes harder for us to see.

The garden perfect and we are forced to fight to be free.  

But is it a fight we should be perusing in this short life,

Weren’t the first working together as both husband and wife.

 

In the end, all we can hope to do is help each other climb.

Reminisce on such splendor in our music and our sweet rhyme.

The tower will become too tall collapsing as all things must.

Everything great left behind in age past will return we trust.

 

For at the end great halls of sweet peace await us at long last. 

Nothing but what was at the beginning there with us, alas;

Things holding greatness before were kept with war and with heartache.

Hereafter no more stairs to climb, just an everlasting lake.

 

Upon this water, there stands a shimmer that breaths hope forever,

A joy and peace that hopelessness and evil cannot sever.

At last breaking anxiety to endlessly be free and run,

Sprinting forever seeing our glory restored in the sun. 

This poem is about: 
My country
Our world

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