It Has Always Been

What is this country becoming?
They shout at each other
Harpies screeching blindly
Across chasms of their own creation

Oh how short the fuses of their memories
How vacuous the pages of their history books must have been
To leave such poor souls
Poor not only of class of coin
But poor of soul

While the rich sit atop their thrones
Drowning themselves in the blood of the screeching masses
As they sip suffering from their golden chalices
Having fleeced the very fleece from the sheep they watch

Tell the negro slave slung in the hold of a filthy boat
Brought by force to the shores of unknown lands
Tell the native chiefs
Whose blood hydrated the soil that sustained them for centuries

Tell the Japanese mothers, fathers, and children
Uprooted from their homes to find new harsh shelter inside iron fences
Tell my family
Harassed and interrogated because of a skin color we did not choose
And a faith we still cling to for the scarcest of comfort

Tell us all
How this country is just now becoming
Tell us all
How it has not always been

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