Rage of Sorrows

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. 

Shouting confusion,

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. 

This poem is about: 
My country

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