America of Gold

America, my own dirty soul.

Am I not a harp for all your songs?

Did I not love you

for your possibilities

until the bitterness on my tongue

reached my heart?

My people sought refuge under your wings

You hated us less.

It was good,

Milk and Honey good.

Until it was just another iteration of our eternal story

And the joke is always on us,

but somehow we still laugh.

America, we are older than you.

Listen to what we know.

About the price.

About the price of change.

About the price of staying the same.

About who pays.

We always only wanted the best for you. And us. And them.

The harp is broken.

But the Harper is unbreakable.