Poetry

America: The Seed

Only if it dies, will it grow

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You had so much potential.
You were destined for greatness,
but you were afraid;
you were afraid of the unknown.

You had to know everything,
own everything;
be everything you could possibly be.

Land of the deceived.
Home of the slave.

You bleed the greed of
a thousand nations before you,
who never succeeded;
all they ever wanted was more.

They fell to the floor
and never took root;
died with no fruit
upon shallow foundations.

You were destined to thrive
but you despised the earth;
treated men as dirt.

Now you’re being buried alive!

How can you be anything
more than a seed?
How can you be anything
more than a single grain of wheat?