This Land Runs Dry

Can you hear the it cry - Written 2017

This Land Runs Dry

“I hate you”
shouts the bearded man
through clenched teeth
the stench of his striped heart
pumps with the enigma of red, white and blue

this land runs dry

“I’m an American man”
he shouts again, spit flies
rabid and uncouth
as if his birthright had been shaken loose
legitimatized hate?
as if making America great
was his white-washed calling

this land is falling

never has dying looked so good
amid the chaos and the fury
as the fundamental patriots march
dressed for church and Monday night football
they’ll never take a knee

oh please, this land runs dry

Christ come back, that’s my cry
for your sheep have not simply gone astray
they’ve been bitten
by a rabid wolf in a red cap
possessed now
inoculated
with a legion of hate
and a dark kind of faith
the cross has fallen
just a shadow remains
no longer wood, just a star spangled cloth
perhaps these words are off
but i cannot find the grace
in the harshness of this faith
or the curse of these words
that exclude, and detest
those who are different
or thought of as less

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the wound is deep and this land is dry

angry man you never owned this land
cause you would have watered it
planted some shade
dressed the wound
but you did none of this
and now you cry out in rage
as if you have been wounded
by those who are free enough,
to take a knee
while your angry giddy heart,
hangs on the shadow of yesterday’s tree.