America Must Feed

I know of a land that feeds on blood.
It crucifies foreign bodies to quinch it's thirst.
It's been hungry for some seasons now.
All my ancestors bones are gone,
dried up,
Now the ground calls to us;
beckoning us to join our roots,
demanding take our place as America's next meal.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems

Share This Poem