BREATHES there the man with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, 'This is my own, my native land!' - Sir Walter Scott. 1771–1832
This is the question that fills my heart
as I look about at America. Are we
so fragmented, so different, so apart
from one another we cannot see
our crossroads are upon us? Our epiphany
must come today, or, should we turn away,
our legacy will be no more than history,
forgotten legends of a better, brighter day.
No hero comes to save us. Our choices pave our way,
and in them, we must choose to lay aside
the past of hate and fear and unrepentant sway,
of teachings long ago decried,
as foolish walls, built to repress and hide
the truth. We are the same. We live. We love.
We grow old and die. We ask our children to abide
our sins, forgive our debts, and above
all pray they will be better than we are.
Our legacy is all we have to give,
What will it be? Shall there remain a shining star
of freedom, peace, prosperity, or will we give
a legacy of apathy and indifference,
of pain and suffering, of rusted hopes
and dreams fallen in the mire of impotence?
The time is now, the scope
of what we choose will haunt the days to come.
Shall we choose to submit ... or overcome.
Frederick E. Smith
Copyright 2012 - All rights reserved