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by Brian Francis

Where is this place called America?
Where freedom rings and justice reigns.
Where equality shares a common hope
And compassion trains a steady hand
and lifts all tired souls like a tide

The Lady still stands by the doorway
lighting the way for those lost in darkness
beckoning with the promise of freedom
faithfully proclaiming Liberty for all

Where is this place they call America
the golden valleys and great forests
small patches of remembrance
promised to the future generations
snipped and carved into nonexistence
by the greedy business concerns
equal to a soul it was proclaimed

The giant must be sleeping again
waiting for some call to crisis
perhaps dreaming of its perfection
where America becomes itself
a pleasant dream

Where is this place called America
where can it be realized and when

Only within ones heart I am told
in the way we live our freedom
guaranteeing the same to all
The best that we praise – self sacrifice
giving the gift and demanding honor
flag draped caskets and caissons
and the discharge of rifles
of one, seven, seven, and six

There is the place called America
in our pausing to honor the flag
embracing the promise and creed
a willingness to share in the load
shh, quiet the giant is sleeping


Posted on 07/14/2017
Copyright © 2018 Brian Francis

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 07/14/17 at 03:11 AM

Excellent capture, Brian. Totally accurate in its expression, both metaphorically and in concrete terms. Me thinks in one sense, the giant never really sleeps, and yet sadly, why must it take a Pearl Harbour or 9-11 to fully awaken her.

Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 07/21/17 at 07:53 PM

It's kind of a confusing country right now, but I think the upheaval forces us to think about what is important and how we can't necessarily depend on others to make sure the basic rights are upheld for all. There are hopes, fantasies, traditions and realities all jostling for positions. It's a country worth preserving and you give us much to consider in your poem.

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