Poyetry

Saturday, August 04, 2007

America Bright Beacon of the World

What birthright was this
Like a stone over the heart,
A burning stone upon the tongue?

Could not wait
Rushing to be rid
Be shut of it

Foul remnant
Of an outworn
Family

Shed like a snake
Rolls off the old
Dull scaled skin

Sold away, all sold
For a mess of pottage.

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