Sestina format poem about our wonderful land of the free. |
Patriot’s Burden by Cyle Craig So proud, the flag whipped and snapped, its purpose Fueled by the pounding pulse of patriots’ Beating hearts. Their love was true for the sand That was red, white, and blue. They felt no shame. They forged with blood a world built on a dime, For they lived free in the eagle’s country. Battalions marched, thunderous steps with purpose That, a thousand abreast, ground down the sand Beneath their boots. But still they felt no shame. Blind, they followed Uncle Sam for a dime And left behind a corpsed Mother country. Eyes closed, they all called themselves patriots. Veterans shambled, slow, without purpose. To their dying day they shy from the sand Soaked in blood, where the world built for a dime Crumbled under the stomp of patriots’ Self-absorbed prophecy. They without shame Blamed us for the decay of the country. Now concrete jungles hunger for purpose. The land of freedom, enslaved by the dime, Is ravaged and barren. It weeps with shame And fear of its villain children. The sand Is swallowed by the sea, shapes our country Anew, and calls again for patriots. We, the accused, refuse to let their shame Come true. Fragile whisperings of purpose Renewed echo through the streets. Shifting sands Consume nightmare visages of our country For a chance once more to lay down our dime In the selfless service of patriots. Our window for action arrives. Purpose Demands progress, or our wounded country Shall wither beyond repair. Weathered sand Blasts at our eyes and blinds us from our shame. Like our ancestors before us, the dime Is the devil that poisons patriots. So learn, patriots of the scarred country, To toss aside your dime, to gather sand In hand with purpose, and accept your shame. |