There should be hymns in the air on Sunday,
The children laughing at school on Monday.
Instead there is only screaming, and pain,
And why has this happened again?
Danger stalks our every step.
We cannot worship, or shop, or work, or learn;
We cannot see a movie, a concert, or go out,
Not with death waiting at every turn.
Where can we go, when nowhere’s safe?
Where can we make our home?
What happened to this land that promised dreams
But instead she eats her own?
These huddled masses yearn to breathe free,
Yet how can we, when we are not allowed to be?
When we are spat at, told to leave, warned to flee?
When they spew hate with so much glee?
Until all are safe, and fed, and warm,
Until all can dream, and live, and love,
This country will always be wicked and torn.
You can’t make great again what never was.
written May 19, 2022
Moriah Sharpe 