The Myth that is the American Dream.

We the People,

Stop right there and tell me who are we?

Not the natives, not the blacks, not him or her or me,

Tell me. Did you mean you as in the Anglo-Saxon man?

That came across the sea and stole another persons land?

Leaving them with the carcass of the lives they had once led,

And the ghost of a land with dirt now stained bright red,

With the blood of a people tainting your hands and souls,

In the dark deep abyss of your closetful of sins,

You ask for forgiveness; but where should we begin?

With the Africans you ripped from the womb of their home,

With the families you tore apart and sold, leaving each alone,

What of the Negro man you flayed and the poor slave girl you raped,

You ask for forgiveness but you turned love to hate.

Always cite your sources, wash your hands of blame,

With quotes from Holy Scripture to clear your dirty name,

Freedom was the aim and the devil asked his price,

No refunds, no returns, but was the price too high?

You paid in full and got everything you asked for,

But you can’t turn back now; he comes a-knocking on your door,

You’ve sold your souls for freedom; you can’t get it back no more,

Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness,

But pretty words cannot make up for a nation’s ignorance,

You say the end justifies the means at the end of the day,

But is this the end? Are we really on our way?

To the America they promised us, the one where dreams come true,

The America where We the People means him and her and you,

Where the American Dream isn’t some timeless tale, some urban legend, unproven myth

That an old woman holds to her breast at night and takes solace and comfort in,

Because it’s all that keeps her going, faith in this Old U S of A,

And the hopes that tomorrow will bring a brighter, better day.