The past, <br />memories called tears; <br />understandings <br />as old as rocks, <br />cold and hard. <br /> <br />Immortal as Gods <br />the ghosts of freedom <br />have penetrated <br />our lusts and desires; <br />twisting our hopes <br />into a powerful wanton dream, <br />a clenched white fist, <br />a glazed tomorrow. <br /> <br />A nation, <br />desperately clinging <br />to forgotten lies and drying tears, <br />trying to believe <br />in the past promises <br />of our bent and broken, <br />American Dreams.<br /><br />Sandra Osborne<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/american-dreams/
