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I wrote this poem as a sort of after thought, wondering what the end will be if the left is allowed to continue destroying America, while those on the right sit on their collective backsides, and wait for someone else to actually save America. Folks, we here at home have to fight the left, to save what those grand military folks have fought for around the world! Is this poem to be the path we chose to let others lead us down? Only you can say which it is to be! Will you raise your voice in defense of America, will you fight, in their 'collective' faces and say NO, will YOU, stand up today, or see what tomorrow may bring?

Trike

A Lesson Too Late To Learn From

The bitter wind blew over the rust red land of ancient Sul-Guldor,
chasing falling night over that blasted land, with the softest cry of all.
Curling round the shattered ruins of what once had been, but would be no more,
the song of sadness that it sang, caressing the broken, half fallen wall.

Here once had stood a city proud, filled with wonders on every side,
until the passions of dissension and politics did collide.
There a grand sea surged to the flow of wind caressed waves did abide,
until the final battle that swept it all aside.

It stated small enough, just two views that did not agree,
everything was divided, the prize the pattern of life to live you see.
It was what was yours, and what was mine, and what everything should be,
along the way the truth was lost, and morals drown at sea.

A Deity was killed to keep the few from fearing the judgement of a greater hand,
and acceptable new gods were made by the willing hand of anti-everything social man.
Feel good, and self-esteem, and an elite who would lead them all as a merry band,
if only they would give their all to a greater good in someone else’s plan.

But those who held to the ways as ancient as their land,
were set up on for their views and anger came to pass.
Lies and hate, and slanted views fed the fire, as truth was sadly banned,
until only rage was left to fire this ancient land into a thermal mass.

In the end there were but two, who upon the plains of Sul-Guldor, still did stand
one from each side, weary of the savage fight that blighted the land both left and right.
In a moment of truce, the anti-everything social man, slew the last traditionalist warrior still to hand,
and in that moment cried out his win, in a silence poignant in the fading light.

In that moment and the next, the victor finally saw the truth of his drive to win,
his ultimate and final victory was as hollow as the man himself had been.
Utopia hadn’t really been the goal, but rather the need for power, amid the cheering din,
but only the sound of the empty wind came to his waiting ear, not a nation of cheering men.

Finally understanding, the man realized his crimes, adding up to the death of Sul-Guldor,
all because he needed something that was not his in the end to hold.
Life, and land, and love as well, were vanquished along the way and more,
and now he was the last to stand, where a world had been so bold.

Greed and elitism and ego had driven him to this end,
losing all in the end to something he no longer wanted as he stood alone.
And like the failure that he was, he took his own life to spend,
and now only the wind can tell the tale of what had been in its soft and chilling moan.