America Is CryingA Poem by Deborah Leah KrempaI refuse to give up what is rightfully my heritage.I refuse to give up what is rightfully my heritage
Thankful am I, we never sold the land we had
It was not ours to sell The land, she is the gift of life from our creator
We gave up what was left of the house we held deed to It was our home
The foundation of our roots
We fought to save our home Only how do you save save a neighborhood
One house at a time, one block One man, one woman, one child At a time I love my hometown but it has become a ghetto
Where a once too tall and proud glass city stood
With her concrete buildings, streets of brick
Paved parking lots and expressways
I love my city but it brings me to tears
The people are raging in fear
It is a ghetto drowning in alcohol and drugs
With poverty comes prostitution and the scum of the earth
This is destroying everything upon the surface of my mother
No more!
I for one won't take a backseat anymore
I am fed up!
There is destruction of properties and lives are at stake
The devastation of mother earth in my own backyard
The front yard is no better
Downtown is where all the monies go
So the rich and wealthy can play their games Of monopoly and molestation
Of this great nation
Now they want to bring casinos in
Making it a more impoverished area than it was before
Everybody hates the homeless Fear the mentally challenged
All they see is poverty
Derilects and drunkards
Thieves, rapists and murderers
Liars of all sorts and adulterers
These people run our streets
While we hide behind closed doors
Or look the other way
No one wants to volunteer
Or try to clean up the mess
If I had a million dollars
Everybody wants to be a millionaire
Everybody wants a piece of the pie
The American dream
I dream about the America that once was
We called her by the name of Turtle Island
We lived on the shell of her back, she took care of us
In return all she asked was for us to return to her
All that was freely given to us
We take from the land and give back to the land
She is our Earth mother We are her caretakers
I am but a voice out in the wilderness
A voice of many people's, cultures, religions and faiths
I cry out but no one listens
No one hears
No one sees
No one cares
I care!
We need to start one block at a time
One house at a time starting with our own property
Living in the inner city
In the concrete jungle
We need volunteers to come out of their houses
Into the streets and take back our neighborhoods
To go to work tearing down every vacant and decayed
House or building one block at a time
We need local businesses to donate
What supplies they have on hand
I'd ask my mayor, my congress person and state senator or representative
To address this issue very cautiously
I would love to go to Washington DC
Ask my president for special funding
To rebuild our homes instead of letting us starve and die
We are run into the ground with unemployment and slave labor jobs
Corrupt government officials misspending our hard-earned tax monies
Health care that no one can afford to be sick
Insurance companies that turn brother against brother
All for the almighty dollar that is shriveling down to nothing
A staggering economy
Jails and institutions for the mentally ill and criminally insane
Instead of sweat lodges, pow wows and rehabilitation communities
Churches that steal the tithes of their congregations
To line their silk pockets with silver and gold
All in the name of God and religion
They hide behind their brick and stone walls
No more outdoor sermons ringing forth
From the mountain tops to the valley below
No such thing as spiritual guides
Like the mighty soaring eagle
These days are earth shattering
Have we forgotten how our soldiers' fall?
Well, it's high time we look out for each other, here in the hood
This is our neighborhood and we are
Going to take the garbage out with the trash
This is the voice of sweet America
We are going to fight to take it back
We will take back our homes and our streets
In the name of all who have gone before us
All have erred and come falling short of her glory
Grandfather send us your blessings
Your magic and your miracles
The one and only living god
I am Tslagi, my people are like the rainbow
For they are black, white, red, yellow and brown
The color of many a people
I am Cherokee proud
© 2015 Deborah Leah KrempaAuthor's Note
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Added on August 24, 2009Last Updated on September 7, 2015 AuthorDeborah Leah KrempaToledo, OHAboutI am grandmother,.. My children and my grandchildren I love them all so very much. They are my gifts from my creator, the blessings in this life. I simply adore poetry and the .. more..Writing
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