Patriot's Burden

Patriot’s Burden
by Cyle Craig

So proud, the flag whipped and snapped, its purpose
Fueled by the pounding pulse of patriots’
Beating hearts. Their love was true for the sand
That was red, white, and blue. They felt no shame.
They forged with blood a world built on a dime,
For they lived free in the eagle’s country.

Battalions marched, thunderous steps with purpose
That, a thousand abreast, ground down the sand
Beneath their boots. But still they felt no shame.
Blind, they followed Uncle Sam for a dime
And left behind a corpsed Mother country.
Eyes closed, they all called themselves patriots.

Veterans shambled, slow, without purpose.
To their dying day they shy from the sand
Soaked in blood, where the world built for a dime
Crumbled under the stomp of patriots’
Self-absorbed prophecy. They without shame
Blamed us for the decay of the country.

Now concrete jungles hunger for purpose.
The land of freedom, enslaved by the dime,
Is ravaged and barren. It weeps with shame
And fear of its villain children. The sand
Is swallowed by the sea, shapes our country
Anew, and calls again for patriots.

We, the accused, refuse to let their shame
Come true. Fragile whisperings of purpose
Renewed echo through the streets. Shifting sands
Consume nightmare visages of our country
For a chance once more to lay down our dime
In the selfless service of patriots.

Our window for action arrives. Purpose
Demands progress, or our wounded country
Shall wither beyond repair. Weathered sand
Blasts at our eyes and blinds us from our shame.
Like our ancestors before us, the dime
Is the devil that poisons patriots.

So learn, patriots of the scarred country,
To toss aside your dime, to gather sand
In hand with purpose, and accept your shame.