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Reflection of aciremA Reflection of aciremA
by David Barger
2011-04-13 07:18:37
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I come to you America

With only paper of small words

Painted green

Tempting you to stare at your favorite color.

 

I was not around when your umbilical cord was cut;

When blood shed came from the wounds

Of your soldiers parturition for you.

When did you turn away from the dream

Birthing you in flames and blood of unchained thoughts?

The price for a thread of liberty continues spilling,

And its river flows of men and women

Who believe scars of white are stitched

Along bruised strips of torn flesh

Where blood escapes oxygen’s stronghold

Becoming a gleam of brilliant red.

 

Many flavors of cultivated dust

Surround your skin

Mixing stone tablets with a zoetic matrix;

Habitants in modernistic skyscrapers

Overshadow Washington’s monument;

Habitants in plywood constructed huts

Guarded by Lincoln’s memorial;

All in a textured array of beauty,

So why do you pick and scratch at them

Like some irritable rash?

They are colors magnified above

Those spread across the rainbow

Because each is felt of glorious velvet.

America, you have forgotten who you are!

 

America, how many countries will you bed

In voices of friendship

Saying we will feed your poor?

We will heal your sick.

We will rebuild what has been broken.

Let us bless you with our goodness and generosity.

How dare you!

Resembling a fork-tongued beast,

And wearing the headdress of the serpent-

Go ahead and look in the mirror;

What is reflected back is no image of a saint!

America, how can these words come forth

When you yourself rape and fuck your own?

The bureaucrats love this show.

Encore! Encore! They shout while waiting to climax.

 

Which body best represents you

When everything that once was original

Is now outsourced?

You bathe in foreign oils

Pretending monopoly money will pay

For a luxury beyond your affordable means!

America, why do you stand on legs of glass

With gold sticker reading Made in China?

 

America I can not lie;

I truly do not know who you are.

I only gather bits cast from the news,

And the news paints you as a whore.

Maybe therein is the attraction

In some sick twisted fantasy,

Or maybe I care too much.

 

I listened to America,

And there was no singing

Only an outcry of confusion

Where some cried

When will freedom show its face again?

Others cried the empire is ruined!

And some were in great fear of terror

From the far horizon

Where men in turbans scheme your destruction 

While others waited to see smoke rise

Again from the east coast.

I wonder, America, if you have reached

Your pinnacle staring down into the abyss?

Then I would not be astonished to hear

That Nero has climbed from his ancient

Tomb to set a fire this nation

Bringing it unto ashes like Rome.

 

What will the children of today

Say to the child of tomorrow about you?

What will become of you, America?

To be talked about like a myth

As Atlantis is talked of in this day

During these hush-hush times.


  
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Comments(4)
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Thanos2011-04-13 12:20:47
Great poem!


David Barger2011-04-13 13:14:08
Thank you Thanos! I got a lot off my chest with this poem, and it felt good in doing so.


Alan2011-04-13 15:55:17
"I got a lot off my chest with this poem..." I can feel that


M Kathy Brown2011-04-13 18:14:51
So much I could say, understanding how poetry forms from one's soul... Especially liked "soldiers parturition" "many flavors of cultivated dust" and "Nero has climbed from..." Tremendous flow of thought, David, and written where someone has to read slowly to grasp it all. Excellent and timeless. Thanks for publishing!


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