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Southern By The Grace Of Satan
by Jersey D GibsonNo foundation
for us to be here.
Nothing here do we like,
nothing here we wish to see.
No chains
to hold us down.
Nothing here is too precious,
nothing here not held in controversey.
No memories
stand so fondly.
Nothing here that we cherish,
nothing here will last.
No people
planted in this here clay.
Nothing here will grow and live,
nothing here native, all transplanted.
No honor
the war is just in history.
Nothing here to remember those men,
nothing here will sing their song.
No pride
in what was once Dixie.
Nothing here remembers the Stainless Banner,
nothing here gives a damn, anymore.
No chance
to bring back the glory.
Nothing here will be once was,
nothing here will the new relish.
No time
to sit back and enjoy.
Nothing here has a porch,
nothing here watches the setting sun.
No land
here can we call this ours.
Nothing here can joy spring from,
nothing here prepared for the coming hoards.
No person
can remember the South.
Nothing here resembles it,
Nothing here will do it justice.
04/10/2003 Author's Note: I never liked it here in Georgia, but it saddens me that they forget their history, destroy their heritage, and sweep under the rug all they've been through. Even the guidebooks are spineless.
Posted on 04/11/2003
Copyright © 2024 Jersey D Gibson
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Adrian Calhoun on 04/13/03 at 11:10 AM "Hang on to your Hank Williams records folks, the South will Rise again!" Great piece Jersey. I see a lot of southern states becoming more "politically correct" and it sickens me. The south was built from pride, and pride should be taken in heritage. |
| Posted by Lori Johnson on 04/13/03 at 09:04 PM This makes me sad, I am so proud of my heritage & our growth as a region. *sigh* |
| Posted by Charles J Hannan on 04/18/03 at 07:21 AM I know the feeling, Jersey...I live next door in Bama. |
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