Upon the lovely,
of America’s golden plains,
her monuments of past era,
made of steel and glass,
tempered with the fires of hope;
cast cold shadows
over astonishing rage of times.
Perilous days of a graceless age,
unsettles old tradition of yesteryear.
On foaming seas of restless divide;
hatred’s venom spews its politics
on ancient walls of bedrock liberty.
Angry masses hurl back and forth.
Offended by their own;
offense upon offense,
no matter the slight.
Counting worthy this rage,
for offense’s sake.
Bringing down the strongholds,
they count it sweet victory.
from atop the towering heights of rage;
wisdom disdained, and despair courted.
Obscene honor given to the unseemly;
the righteous banished,
amidst the forgotten footnotes of history.
Discarding the proven ways,
moral compass lost;
apathy mocks hope
with protest upon bitter protest.
All the while, God gently pleads;
O’ my beloved, why dost thou rage?
Your Righteous path, defined and true,
lies scarcely trod, neath the
blackened leaves of forgotten memory.
And as Malice becomes king,
and Envy the mother;
sorrowing winds of decadence blow,
whilst the dust of ancient upon ancient;
swirls in silent dismay.