“Revolution”
“No taxation without representation!”
They chant, for a nobler generation.
All while risking demoralization on hopes that they will establish a new nation that prides itself on free association and accurate representation of its population.
We start out strong, only for it to be a long, treacherous fight song.
Death is looming in the air
the patriot’s hope lingers into despair.
I dedicate myself to this noble cause of freedom!
What happened to the fire of passion I once so boldly believed in?
The sun shines brightly, the grass is green.
The spring season is unaware of the impending battle scene,
the perfect sight for a dying boy of fifteen.
I see my brother die in the blood stained sky!
O, the agony of his empty eyes,
haunts me til the day I die!
Limbs being amputated, faces mutilated.
I see my son fight valiantly,
only to breathe his last at the hand of brutality.
Sons of liberty,
you have led me only to misery!
Why must the battlefield seem so enticing?
At first glance it seems quite inviting
when all you know is surviving at the hands of a king who is wringing and writhing.
I step out onto my front porch and see the light of cannon fire in the summer’s night.
All we wanted was to shed light
on this oppression.
A noble cause hurts, kills
A noble cause shoots, spills
blood of the innocent.
Is my reasoning for this more reasonable than yours?
Death is steadily knocking on the fighters’ doors.
I have God on my side, simple as that.
Faith is the answer for the purpose of combat.
His name is validation, nothing more.
God’s name won’t put us to shame, but my façade of faith will.
What happens when we wake up and realize
that His name was only a disguise?
A disguise for man’s thirst for power.
What will become of me in the judgement hour?
Am I now numb to the grips of death?
Am I deaf to the ringing of the dying screaming?
Am I blind to the blood pouring bodies?
Buzzing, humming, summoning
of all those who sense the coming.
The battle drum beats for one last time.
“Don’t tread on me”
Serves as an ominous sign.
The rolling Virginian fields
offer up a place for the royalty to yield. Frenchman and patriots alike, all serving alongside in this fight. All are singing along, to victory’s glorious end song.
I thank God for this land,
now a representation of time’s inevitable hand.
I pray to God that it may never have to see the works of the devil again.
A momentary breath,
then it is time to begin.
Poetry With Maggie 