America by James Kavanaugh
To those who know their own weakness well enough
To understand Americas mistakes
To heal her wounds
To struggle for change
To those who care enough about America
To see the beauty beyond the arrogance
To remember a young land with noble goals
But especially to those
Who dare to dream dreams without certainty of success
Youve grown old, my country,
And I never even noticed.
Suddenly one day your hair turned grey,
There was a tired look in your eyes.
You knew your children were too big now
To shout into silence.
Once you stroked their hair,
Told them tales of brave men.
Now there is a sullenness and weariness,
You are not strong enough to raise your hand.
I love you, America,
But not like I used to,
When you were a fable without weakness.
You sent your sons to war,
Your children to school,
You sent your men to work,
Your women to tend the home.
There was grumbling.
But there was obedience.
It seemed a nice land then,
Some may not remember.
We studied soldiers medals,
Whispered when we saw a purple heart.
Mothers kept stars in their windows
And boys who gave their lives
Really died for their country.
But youve grown old, America,
Minute men are a dusty memory,
George Washington as distant as a textbook.
I know that Lincoln learned his law by lamp,
But meanwhile John was killed, and Robert,
Malcolm fell and Martin.
I dont know what happened,
But suddenly the war was at home.
Maybe it was always that way
In secret corners
In wounds inflicted unwittingly
In sadness no one would understand
In silence.
I know you wanted peace, America,
But there was no peace,
And it was your own fault!
You talked of freedom,
Of equality and justice,
You taught us to yearn and ask,
To fight and grow,
You told us stories of little men made big,
Told us tales of success
And success was always monuments and money.
We wanted other things, America,
We thought you understood,
Time for love and laughing,
Freedom from slaveryand dignity,
Music on the streetsand flowers.
Sometimes we didnt know what we wanted.
But it had to be more than we had!
You have grown so serious, America,
So dull and deathlike,
So solemn and frightened!
Now we do not kill ducks and deer,
We kill each other.
We save the Siberian tiger
And destroy ourselves.
We are not one land, but many, America,
And our certainties and absolutes grow diffident.
Can we hear the black and brown man long enough
To comprehend his hostility and hurt?
Can we hear the white man
Who has only known slavery of another kind?
Can we hear the screams of women,
The shouts and cynicism of the young,
The cries and fears of the old?
I am tired, too, America,
Tired of the disloyal spouting their loyalties,
Of the greedy preaching forebearance,
Of the despots demanding discipline and docility,
Tired of men and women calling angry theories God,
Of the oppressed becoming the oppressor,
Of hostile eyes and hate filled words,
Tired of persons looking everywhere but within themselves!
Your childhood is over, America,
And your adolescence.
Noisy protests seem like high school pep rallies,
Some of us want life now!
Our pain is too deep for slogans,
Our anger too profound for placards,
Our hurt too raw for discussion!
How do you tell your father he is narrow and unforgiving?
How do you tell your mother she is unfeeling and biased?
Maybe in the beginning, nations, like frightened men,
Must shout their power,
Flex their muscles, feign infallible.
But when an old man is arrogant,
Somehow you know its too late!
When an old man blusters and brags,
Somehow you know hes never been well loved!
Grow soft, America, and let the wrinkles show!
Grow gentle, America, let the mistakes be reveled!
Grow wise, America, let your scars be seen.
Men will scorn a flag that scorns them,
Leave a land that leaves them.
But they will love a land that loves them,
And trust a land that is as weak as they are!
There is no salvation on the battlefields, America,
War creates bitterness and brutal memories,
And the treaty of peace is only preamble to another war.
There is no salvation in the churches, America,
God became as grey and cultish as those who made him.
There is no salvation in economics, America,
Only the juggling of figures to seduce men
And make them believe they can possess what cannot be bought.
There is only salvation in the hearts of mean and women
Who are not tied to their possessions!
Or bound to their successes,
Who are not chained to their ego
Or buried in past bitterness,
Those who can reach out and give!
Some cannot give,
So much has been taken from them!
Some cannot understand,
For they have never been heard!
Some cannot love,
For they have never been well loved!
But some of us know the beginning of love,
Who can nourish the empty and distressed,
Who can give to those who have nothing to give.
Perhaps we cannot give much,
Or give long.
But we can give!
Not for God! Or country! Or nobility!
Simply for our brothers!
For no reason at all.
