Is the painter proud as she moves her brush?
Or the writer, lost in thought?
Is the soldier proud as he plunges his blade
in battle more “survived” than “fought”?
Pride comes only with time and distance,
and mostly to cowards afar.
To the brave, pride in others is pretentious,
and in themselves a memory’s scar.
Amongst the best in this country,
and the worst in the world,
the American Dream is alive.
Between those walling up borders,
and those escaping demagogues,
the American Dream is alive.
Around those pronouncing judgment,
and judgment-free zone seekers,
the American Dream is alive.
In the minds of boomers losing savings,
and millennials who may never have any,
the American Dream is alive.
Amidst the slumber of the ignorant,
and the stupor of the intoxicated,
the American Dream is alive.
In a time of despair, in broken disrepair,
against all odds, even when they know it’s not there,
they still pursue happiness, love, hope, and care,
because Americans are dreamers, and quitters are rare.
Despite all their differences, this one thing they share.
The American Dream is alive.
Almost lovers make the best of friends:
they care for each other truly.
By not crossing that invisible line
love never spills over to the unruly.
They always forgive and always forget
for the promise of a maybe future.
Even though in their hearts they know
that he’s not her real suitor.
After years of wandering in the woods
I came up with this brilliant plan.
A foolproof logic that consistently would
stand up to the most inquisitive man.
The true nature of things is unknowable
and my life had indeed been wasted.
So I devised something showable
with lies within it nested.
A slight untruth that would protect
a saintly, wise recluse.
As long as one doesn’t deeply inspect
it’s certainly not abuse.
I lie for myself, to justify
a miserable, failed persistence.
I lie knowing it doesn’t signify
anything beyond my own existence.
My words won’t stand the test of time:
before long their faults discovered.
Then someone new may begin to mine
the depths of Truth left uncovered.
The most tragic outcome I can think
is of my words enduring long.
Of people trusting an old dry ink
and a convoluted, meaningless song.
But the chances of that are slim and low
for the future’s always smarter.
The coming generations of tomorrow
must go far, and even farther.
So I think I’m safe with my little lie
though my profession it will taint.
The world won’t devolve and have to survive
on the tales of an accidental saint.
How long I’ve waited for you to come
my equal, able, worthy foe.
How long I’ve wished to unleash myself
and see how far can I go.
You let me be my full, true self:
my every fiber working as one.
Not so with friends and allies with whom
compromises must be done.
I won’t hold back, not anymore,
for you can take a beating.
And with you, in loss there’s equal joy
as there is in defeating.