Grey skies paint a dismal picture
Of a land once kissed by the sun,
Though now it may not burn color
Into a land once won.
Though it is a sky some look upon with wistful gazes,
Their dreams shattered as the sky fell down,
Our forefathers looked upon it
With hope for a day without a crown.
When we fall down,
We all look up at a gray abyss,
But if the sky was blue for America then,
What changed it to this?
(Note: Written September 23,2009. This is not about politics)