![]() AmericaA Poem by John Sullivangive me your tired your poor your huddled masses words forgotten somewhere there is a man lying on the floor dispossessed misbegotten I can see I can see very well the darker currents that make up a nation's hell and dark indeed the river beneath a sickness of soul a history bequeathed the swastika speaks i know it in my blood bleeding hearts will seek I see a storm I see a flood a Confederate culture never corrected where a statue to liberty was once erected Life Liberty Freedom of Speech hold these things sacred while we may while a nation stained in blood grasps the future in broken hands and weeps
© 2024 John SullivanAuthor's Note
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