In our midst, there exists a crisis,
One that cannot be disregarded,
Or lightly dismissed,
For it concerns our children -
Both yours and mine -
And what they witness That falls short of sublime.
Our country has faced problems big and small,
Though we've learned to endure,
We've always stood united, tall.
Compared to the rest, we feel alright,
Beating competitors and winning international fights.
But, something has changed,
Our morale has diminished
As we stand divided by party and electoral finish.
We turn our backs and meet with blind eyes,
Unmoved by our world's inevitable demise.
Yet, among the mess, there exists a greater conflict,
One that plagues the borders of our nation, perfect.
A policy of intolerance has given way
To children displaced with parents far away.
We are better than this.
No, it can't be.
There's mistake.
We're the best country.
I look to the news, I turn on the TV
To see their tears and hear their cries. When did this happen?
In what way?
In what time?
Some cry out in anger, some in vengeance,
And take to the streets to teach the government a lesson.
Some fast and let their stomachs grow weak,
Watching and hoping that these children find their release.
Yet, what good does such a thing do
If the mighty and powerful don't care about you?
Raising money will help to amend
Our heartless act of Zero Tolerance
And reunite families away overseas,
But, there is still the matter of our speech
And how our citizens regard these foreigners,
These migrants,
The weak.
They speak ill of their brother, their fellow man,
And defy the principles set forth by their clergymen.
We were all spoon fed lessons of compassion,
Yet, power encourages self-satisfaction.
Skewed is their perception of speech,
For they are consumed by racism and bigotry.
My heart aches to see these children's torment,
Watching as they appear in court and lament
The loss of mothers so pretty and fair,
Tried like criminals, with little justice to bear
Witness to the oppression and hate they have endured In cages,
In the heat,
In the First Lady's demure.
All of our efforts will be in vain
Until those in power listen to the God they profane.
The fatherless, widow, and foreigner alike
Are revered in spite of their poverty and pain,
For like you and me, God loves them the same.
Until those in power listen to these words of old,
The same story will continue to be told:
Of how America the beautiful, the once holy land,
Has crumbled to ruin at the powerful's hands,
Allowing itself to be held captive
To the whims of the wealthy and highly adaptive.
I pray for these children, that they find their peace,
So that the world sees us once more
As the land of the free.
