My next poem for National Poetry Month; I’ve written a lot! The poems have been therapeutic.
Our constitution is dripping like rain,
The founder’s tears falling,
Drying up on the sidewalk,
While people walk past.
The words melting away,
Forgotten to time,
History disappearing,
Quietly shouting it’s demise.
Our foundation cracked,
A future roof collapsing,
The ground splitting,
No longer holding the march.
The wildflowers still bloom,
Until the logging takes hold,
The children can’t breathe,
While their land washes astray.
Grip the old paper,
Hold tight,
Open your eyes,
See the fight.
~Janice
Momma Wanderer 