Timothy Birdnow

I was working on a poem in honor of Independence Day but ran out of time to work on it. Here is the first draft. Don't know if it was going to be any good or not but it's what it is

Zion, far on the horizon, that glittering jewel, a dream across the sea
called out to prophets and paupers and laborers
all dreaming to be free

They sailed for months in rickety ships
that were cold and had drips
tossed on stormy seas
their food hardtack with weevils, their bodies diseased
Their drink crawling and green, and their bodies so lean
but always their eyes on the promised land
Zion, as they would flee across the sea

They came and built their farms and towns
dug canals and built their lives for themselves and their wives
carved from a wilderness both savage and remote
they prayed to their great good God with thanksgiving and hope

And always their eyes on Zion, the jewel, the Promised Land

But then their tranquility was torn away, as the French and the English acted their play
And the king and his Commons came over to stay, and thus tjeu decreed a great tax they should pay

And another and another.

The Colonists finally decided enough
the British wanted to play rough
and they went before George to ask for his mercy
But merciless and cruel was the insane fool
and he sneered at the rough hewn colonials
with their homespun ragged clothes and their pious simplicity posed
an insult to so majestic a being!

Like the serpent in Eden King George looked to despoil Zion
And he ordered his troops to crush Boston and Concord
but those who did flee from the Mother over the sea
refused to be back in her bosom
Patriots poured forth from the land
to his brother a strong helping hand
while the bloodbacks retreated, defiled and defeated
Colonists spilling their blood on the sand

In any man's life there comes a point where one must choose one's destiny, or it will be chosen for him though he may not agree.
The wise men of the 13 came together to chart this course for their lands. Not to the sound of bands, or the clapping of hands, but quietly it seems, almost the stuff of dreams

The young man Jefferson, his elder friend Franklin, Adams, Sherman and Livingston put quill to paper and told the imperial raper to leave
They announced we were free and the British should flee
and that henceforth Americans we would be

It was a bold, bold act for a rope awaited them back in the British citadels The sobering fact was their bodies would stack
If King George got a crack at them

But John Hancock just smiled and he laughed like a child and signed the treasonous paper with a flourish

On that day American was born, our allegiance to Britain was torn
on that day in defiance we said "no more!" tp the the tyrant
on that day these brave men risked their whole lives, their fortunes and wives, their businesses and health and homes, to stand for a course where we aren't ruled just by force
without a bloated sovereign bossing us around and driving our people into the ground.

While a war was still waged and the British raged and the graves grew quite full of dead
both American and Red
In the end it was unstoppable, a tidal wave, an outpouring of the spirit that had led these people to settle in Zion in the first place
They came on God's grace
and nobody could drive them from that exulted a place
the British lost before the fight was engaged
the fight they waged
was doomed to defeat
for ours was a trumpet that would not sound retreat

Grateful and humble Americans should be
we won our great war on both land and in the sea

Freedom was ours as long as we wanted it
sadly the hour draws nigh when it no longer fits
Where is the spirit of '76?
It has vanished in vanity, soft living and tricks
Where are the Patriots who spoke such brave words?
they're broke in their basements and playing Angry Birds
Or leading the charge against statues of Founders
While America teeters and freedom just flounders
Our ancestor settled to avoid being slaves
But now we allow them to be taken from their graves
If we don't remember our heroes and God
we will surely feel the strike of His rod
Our Patriot heroes died or were maimed
I fear that they now must just feel ashamed

Zion is becoming a dream. A long, lost, lonely dream.

Posted by: Timothy Birdnow at 10:33 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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