America I
AMERICA I
Born of rebellion, this place.
Yet what, precisely, does it manifest,
If anything?
The dross and dregs,
Stumblings of a much older world
Found their way here,
Carried across a wide, careless sea
That brought them to their New World
Full of desires base and profound
A New World
Carved and shaped
Wooed and won
Wildnesss beaten back by souls as wild
Flying the Pandora's Box
Left carelessly open
From its beginning, this place would be
A birthing-place of turmoil, triumph, beauty, blood
Madness and mad hope
Beginnings tied to unseeable endings
Gain and loss
Pride and shame.
The old world sent a great storm to these shores
That swept and scoured,
Shattered and rebuilt
That never stopped,
Roiling and seething,
Even to this very day.
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