The American Sun

The lost and unfortunate have heard of a place where the sun rises from sea to shining sea.

The slave has heard of a place that fought for them.

The African and Indian blood of my native people mixed with my other native blood calls me in the night. 

Memories with dusty tears of Cowboys and Indians fighting to the death.

Lone sailors with combat dreams of coming home to you.

Armies protecting memories of the stars and the stripes in the middle of foreign woods.

Dead presidents on dollar bills being traded for goods and services.

Cultures fighting to be heard.

A place for the lost searching for a dream.

Everyone’s heard of its thrills.

A continent that never sleeps.

A place where hell can be heaven and heaven can be hell.

Through conflicts and pain the religions that reign whisper in your ear that every God is the same.

“Be brave,” they say, for the land is filled with opportunities and second chances.

When you fall you can still hear old Indians in the woods doing rain dances.

When you cry, the south will keep you warm and you will often hear old slaves singing hymns to give you strength to carry on, the timeline of moments span across the globe…

The Spanish and Canadian people see the sun too, rising for the world and a land found by many…

A land that stretches from south to north and east to west, in memory of anything or anyone forgotten—especially in the middle where the states are united.

A home and a history still riddled with unsettled strife, but the sun still shines even with the stars at night.

The American Sun

In memory of the old Turtle Island now known as America. 

Peace be with all who find it as their place to call home the sun shines for all of us to share.

The American Sun