An American Poem for a fading dream.

My mother wrote a poem in response to a song written by my older brother, and I thought I would share it here as a beautiful reflection on the fading of the America that we all have known and loved.

A link to my bother's song: http://www.reverbnation.com/michaeltracy ... then click "My Faith, My Country"

Here is the poem:

So tempting for me to
Fall backwards and only wonder,
To wander to,
Back in the day.

For today is not my story, nor
My ways.
Is there a way,
Out of this strange charade?

Back in the day,
I was richer,
Yet, poorer, too.
For I must say,
I enjoy this now of knowing
More than I knew,
Back in the day.

But what treasure
There was in those banished winds of sun!
Sweet sun was all I cared about,
And the golden poppies, and palominos --
In one, breathtaking breeze,
They'd crackle richer colors through the summer wheat,
Like warm magic.

And, yet,
It was when the day spun out,
And the moon
And the holy stars spun in,
That breathing was complete,
Back in the day.

Today,
Grey rocks with cave-less, airless
Harsh holes,
And no wonder,
Feed on our fallings, and fears of tomorrow
Of a dread dark coming of un-spun heat,
Or, maybe, snow.

Youth and freedom does not work that way:
Clamped down in a cold grey sheet
Of a cold grey state of fogged control.

There are American types of
Bright and holy bandits,
Who open up
History's storehouses of starry light, and,
More than want, they
Ride! The gleams of
Good winds of change.

These American knights crackle
With the romp and ribbons of new bones,
And pray the blessings
We never say, anymore.

Beyond dreaming
Of old doors of summer wheat
And resolutions in full moons,
They mount, shimmering ghostly steeds if they must,
To see:

The hidden coins of golden realms that
Are our freedoms in the sun.
Our gifts from God,
Cherished, by those who died
Sunlit in His moon,
Back in the day.

              by Mary Tracy
                   Feast of St. Barnard
                    2013