This Is Not My Dream

A poem about America’s need for a path of love and wholeness

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This is not
my dream.

I have no home
amongst the hate
I have no house
amongst the violent
I have no land
in the soils of ignorance
tended by politicians deceits
I do not sing
for oligarchs
or greed
I do not write
for upper-class wars
or oil-rig conquistadors

And I will not watch
As we chase the white rabbit
called the “American dream,”
to our demise
I will not watch
as we become Rome,
Atlantis, or Pompeii
or worse
ashes of ghosts
lost in dusty archives
maybe it’s better that way?
I believe in the hope
that sways, like monarchs
dying wings