American Gothic Poem by Mary Champion

I thought it was freedom you sought
when you travelled out to the West.
Was that not the promise you bought?
-where no one is ever oppressed.

The lure of the wide-open skies.
A new land to stake a new claim.
To follow your conscience, the prize
you hoped you would win when you came.

So why do you stand there, straight faced,
immured within parallel lines?
You're all buttoned up and strait laced.
Your blank stare as strictly confines
as the old world you once fled in fear,
when liberty beckoned you in.
With hope in your heart, you came here,
but there you stand, puritan prim.

Seems freedom has proved far too much,
to deal with, within your world view.
So now, can you see that the judge
and the jury have always been you?