War Freedom-Lovers Won

War Freedom-Lovers Won
© Surazeus
2024 01 05

I turn toward the siren singing again 
as I dance with the crook the shepherd lost 
in ruins of the high castle where rain 
calculates the countless lives that were lost 
when my fathers sailed here in search of gain, 
and wrestle with Gabriel in the frost. 

My father rises from wreck of his ship 
to name the land he claims with smoking gun 
then gives to me his slave-subduing whip, 
but I turn against owning anyone 
and journey west on mind-expanding trip 
after bloody war freedom-lovers won. 

Strange treasures in America I found 
are not the spoils that wealthy people crave, 
like gold or jewels pilfered from the ground, 
but family memories only moms would save 
as sacred tales in precious volumes bound 
by whisper of the wind on ocean wave. 

Ghosts of the natives, my ancestors killed 
while escaping tyrants who stole their land, 
haunt me with nameless spirits by hope chilled 
at screech of trains built by the greedy hand 
after I join the cartography guild 
so I can trace their footsteps in the sand. 

I wish that I could raise them from the dead 
just like the preacher declares Jesus can, 
but I can only honor them with bread 
and implement intention of new plan 
with equal justice for each soul instead, 
since we were tricked by the confidence man. 

We cannot civilize the world with graves 
erased by homes where children pray to God 
with thanks for labor of the factory slaves 
who run away to join the justice squad, 
till Christian soldiers armed with victory staves 
fight to maintain the national facade. 

The stars and stripes on Flag of Liberty, 
that waves above the White House in sea breeze, 
should promise advancement from poverty 
for honest hands that tend strong apple trees 
through chess-game ownership of property 
in city mazes thick with worker bees. 

Bound tight to mast of my Odyssean boat 
with bonds of duty for state citizen, 
I exercise my sacred right to vote 
that confirms my soul through self-discipline, 
entranced by siren of the royal goat, 
because history repeats itself again.