Icarus Of America - Poem by Lori Boulard
America the Proud stands tall
His states united under an Icarean flag
A cliché of colors flashing his creed
Snapping wildly with the motto of his men:
Red for his bloodthirsty cravings of war,
White for the clean slate of memory-
Two alternating bands of past and present-
Add starry-eyed blue for the noble sea of space,
The frontier most certainly craving his Midas touch
And the shrapnel of dead satellite dreams.
He stretches wide his mighty wings of ego
Creation and destruction interwoven in the plumes,
Fueled by F-16 fire and progress blurred to blind.
Magnificent billion dollar arms propelling him
Upward toward his destiny.
God bless his optimism and unflinching pride
God damn any who stand in his way
But in every tragic hero tragic flaws also fly.
Our Icarus: ignorant and proud,
Unrelenting, unaware of a fate written
Long before the birth of the God blessing him.
His ancient namesake fell to failure,
Wise ancestral warnings swallowed
By the bottomless waters of history,
For his vanity eclipsed even the sun,
Its heat melting the glue of freedom
Into sanguine liquor spilled.
Who will lift you now, proud America?
The impoverished world stands guard,
Tide swelling with satisfaction,
Receding in global relief.
In the dew of dawn, as spectators drift
To witness Big Bangs on distant shores,
America the Humbled will trudge slowly onto sand,
Washed clean of her crimes in a baptism
Of vengeance, clipped clear of her wings,
But steady on her feet.
And she might once again,
Like a baby after an interlude with a light socket
Remember what it is to be alive.
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