A poem comparing the times of now to the past, slightly political, but also personal. |
I am from time to time where home is the best place to be, A time where family is the most important thing, A time where grandparents are the backbone of a family. I am from a time where those you meet aren't just forgotten, A time where tradition stands tall, Where those churches, schools, and houses are a nice scenic view, Not where civil disobedience runs rampant. Perhaps now is not my time. I am not from a place where the grass is a bit too long, Trees a bit too leafy, And driveways a bit too wide, To fit into the ever growing neighborhood. The neighborhood that swallows one up, Never to be seen by neighbors fetching the newspapers again, And even when they are, always too busy to be noticed. Alas, I am from a place that remembers the old, and perhaps even the new. A place where you can be seen yelling across the street, For morning conversation. A time, a time, a time. A time far ago. A time with order, law, and a lesser amount of shrinks. A time where war-heroes-honored, And draft-dodgers slammed with punishment, Not amnesty. A time where conservatism was key- To any kind of moral victory. A time where welfare was for those down on their luck- Not for those looking to scam the government out of a couple bucks. A time where children were for those who wanted them, Not for those that the latex snapped once too many. A much simpler time, And it's not a wonder why. The difficulties began with things similar to Kent State, And should've ended with a punishment- Not a slap on the wrist, As now is the rule. A time where murderers and rapists were sent to the chair- Not jailed for life- Let's be honest... they have no rights. This was a time our country strong. It was always crystal clear who was right, And who was wrong My time is apparently long gone. A century or two gone in fact. My time may be coming back though, At least with Judge Roberts in the throne. It's time to stop throwing them a bone, Alas, now is the time, to truly make our own. There is some hope for all of our lives... But only seeing through the eyes, Of those who have eventually met their demise. |