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I had a dream last night,
a dream, perchance a vision.
A sweet yet sorrowful melody played,
the "Star Spangled Banner," but it sounded more like a funeral dirge.
I stood on a battle field,
but it too resembled a funeral.
Ahead there were groups of people surrounding two figures,
one lay motionless in the other's arms
I moved slowly through the smoky air,
glancing at the mourners as I went.

The first man I saw was tall and lanky.
He wore a dark suite and a tall black hat,
the latter of the two bearing the word LEADERSHIP.
His face spoke of many sorrows
but his lips revealed none.

There were others like him,
wearing the garments of olden times,
fathers before our fathers were born.
Some with tears in their eyes,
others with handkerchiefs raised.

One man sat with his head in his hands,
sobbing softly.
I placed my hand on his shoulder,
and he looked up at me.
I recognized his face
like a long lost friend,
but no name came.

"I tried to lead them, to show them,
but look what they've done now!"

As his eyes stared up into mine
I could read a single, bold word
REASON
He shook his head sadly
and returned it to his hands.

I moved on, less sure than before,
the smoke became thicker and I coughed.
Gun powder burned my nose,
and I nearly ran into another figure.
He wore a soldier's uniform,
and upon his breast was the word SACRIFICE.


"There is no honor," he said simply.
I wanted to stay and question him,
but was motioned onwards.

The final group closest to the figures
was all too familiar.
Their faces and stories having been broadcast,
their names immortalized with a date.

This group stood completely still,
so that even through the smoke
I made out the word INNOCENT
scrawled upon their clothes.
One small girl looked up at me,
"Have they forgotten us already?"

I could not answer for the lump in my throat
so instead I looked on to the figures,
and a single tear crept down my cheek
upon recognition.

There knelt America herself,
looking a great deal like the Statue of Liberty,
except this was no cold statue.
She wept,
and upon her lap lay a man.

His body was wrapped in a tattered flag,
but what I could see of it was bloody and beaten.
FREEDOM was his name,
with JUSTICE in his hands.
and TRUTH on his lips
Lips that were now closed.

"Why?" America asked simply,
her tearful eyes looking up at me.
But as before, I couldn't speak.

Suddenly the wind shifted,
clearing the smoke
and we were blanketed by a shadow.
I looked to see a man upon the hill,
next to him was raised a vacant flag pole.
In one hand he held a sword,
in the other, a document, tarnished by his touch.
And upon his head was a crown.

I couldn't see his face,
but I didn't need to.
this was the man who betrayed FREEDOM with a kiss,
he who attacked in DEFENSE.


Anger burned in my breast,
but I was stayed by America's voice:

"He who lives by the sword
dies by the sword.
Against him TRUTH is your only weapon,
JUSTICE its companion,
and FREEDOM the answer."

I looked down upon the grief stricken America—
her book was abandoned,
her torch had gone out,
and even her crown sat askew.

Was this to be our fate?

No.

I pushed my anger away
and took up the mantle of FREEDOM.
Gently America unwrapped the flag from his body
and held it out to me.
I accepted it with loving care
and held it high as a symbol.

On my journey back through the crowds,
I saw something new:
hope

I only looked back once.
The man was still on the hill,
but he looked less now,
his bare flag pole telling the story.

I raised the flag and in my ear played the song I'd heard before,
but different now:

”And the rocket's red glare,
the bombs bursting in the air
gave proof through the night
that our flag was still there!”