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i am america

Poetry By: sina fisher
Poetry


what america is about


Submitted:Dec 13, 2011    Reads: 7    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   


I am freedom, rolling countryside hills with tractor plows and animals talking loud in the big red barn. The Screen doors snapping shut back against the wooden frame as kids spill out of the house. The Children laughing and playing under the shade of the old oak tree. The Grass bowing at the strong powerful wind as it sweeps by. The sky as blue as the shallow ocean.

I am hard work, slaving to the needy earth, with callused hands covered with grease and oil under an old rusted truck. Tools hitting the hard broken floor with loud clanks. Gasoline taints the air. Nurses and doctors on call at all hours of the night tending to the weak and sick. Pens racing across the paper like a deer running from the hunters.

I am family laughing on the porch. The smell of the burning charcoal spins in the wind. Warm sun tea filled to the tip of plastic cups. The smiles as bright as the sun. Horse shoes thrown high into the clear blue sky. The laughter of families. The cars parked throughout the front yard, gathering to the front door with gentle knocks.

I am busy streets with honking cars and engines roaring. Street lights flashing like police cars rushing to a scene. A hot rush of wind as the vehicles dash to the next destination. Crowded sidewalks with excuse me and shoulder checks. A loud whistling to the closest taxi down the street and arms rose as if to touch the sky.

I am opportunity for success. The noisy school children running through the halls calling to their friends. Chemicals from cleaners cover the air heavy with harsh fumes. Hands raised high for the heavens to grab them. Teachers shoe clicking down the long wide hallways. The looks on parents faces when the report card is in the mail. The school bell is a screeching hawk flying down on its kill. The early hello in the morning class room from the teachers. Loud chattering of students in the hall.

I am strong. Strength ready to take on the world and fight. Guns rose for battle. Leaving behind family and rushing to the death. Pride left on the blood stained earth. Men and women running like a wild fire. Boots laced tight uniforms perfect to the last thread, eyes filled with tears kissing them good-bye for the, could be, last time. Daddies saying goodbye to their daughters. Mothers saying goodbye to their sons.

I am the house on the hill. The sweet smell of honey suckle and the stories told on the front porch watching the sun set over the hills. The silent night as children sleep and wolves howl at the moon. The city lights that fill the sky to make its own north star. The hard work and labor of the men and women. I am the ideal dream.





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