The hurt won't go away,
It hurts more everyday,
To see your Country decay,
Right before your eyes,
And no one to say:
'STOP! , You have no right,
It's not yours it's Ours'
'Sweet land of liberty,
I will sink thee,
Even though I have no right,
I'll make your days blacker,
Than blackest night, '
Say the governing forces of plight.
Destructive Dunces,
Evil hunches,
Away we go,
Where nobody really wants to go,
Hell is now open,
Internal fires burning without wood,
Charring the life of our nation,
It could have been stopped,
But all were too lazy,
Too 'politically correct'
To do it,
As the curtain closes,
Our dignity and pride stolen,
A great nation, slowly dies,
Right before our eyes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
O Sandra. I do concur. I, like you, like watch persons on the wall, shall continue to sound the alarm, and I am convinced that voices like yours and others shall be heard. I shall not fret, because me thinks that the nation's purpose is not yet completely realized. Renewal, restoration, and resurrection, without revolution. The 4 R's, minus one, are near.