From Every Patriots Grave
From the patriots grave there comes a disturbance
a sound so faint it is distant less. It floats in on the wings of absurdity.
It defies the continuity of human expiration, upending the status quo
and invading the promised tranquility of the patriot's rest.
The sound stirs forever sleeping neighbors, displeasing compatriots
who had, as fated, come to peace with nonexistence.
Old threats, assumed battlefield defeated, are revived in the incoherent
oratory of an amoral man's quest for unrepressed power.
The sound he summons is autocracy rising, growing louder,
and not that far away. Pomposity begets confusion, discord follows.
Was this not the screamed rhetoric of long ago? Incendiary promises to
make their country great again. Instead, oratory that set it afire.
The fires, so long ago, dead heroes died to extinguish. New tyranny disturbs
forever slumber. Dead heroes, in graves, have no more to give.
We need new patriots to rise, to resist today's promised tyranny and quiet the hatred that hovers over America and the graves of heroes. All deserve peace.
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