Freedom Green

For freedom green they fight
and die, and dream,
and we, the free
we watched for one week
then turned our heads away.
Burning still in streets
the fires of iniquitous words
scald the very ground
with seared messages of hate,
yet we turn away,
back to our shining city
to watch with horror
the latest breakdown of
the feckless wonders,
days of dead fallen idols
and breathless hunger for
drama not our own.

And still, they fight and march
for those things we don’t
know to crave,
the cradle and grave of democracy
we wait,
trusting all is well while
the story is cold.
Growing old these men
who cry wishing for days before
the constant din,
when grayscale faces
could grace the air and avert
leper shows of the yellow page.

Night falls in America
while they wake to rise
and fight for freedom green,
to die the deaths we’ll never know
in graves we’ll never see,
to own fortune of spirit
in the self-made halls of liberty
stained red
and rise to say,
“This is ours to claim.”