America the Proud stands tall <br />His states united under an Icarean flag <br />A cliché of colors flashing his creed <br />Snapping wildly with the motto of his men: <br />Red for his bloodthirsty cravings of war, <br />White for the clean slate of memory- <br />Two alternating bands of past and present- <br />Add starry-eyed blue for the noble sea of space, <br />The frontier most certainly craving his Midas touch <br />And the shrapnel of dead satellite dreams. <br /> <br />He stretches wide his mighty wings of ego <br />Creation and destruction interwoven in the plumes, <br />Fueled by F-16 fire and progress blurred to blind. <br />Magnificent billion dollar arms propelling him <br />Upward toward his destiny. <br /> <br />God bless his optimism and unflinching pride <br />God damn any who stand in his way <br /> <br />But in every tragic hero tragic flaws also fly. <br />Our Icarus: ignorant and proud, <br />Unrelenting, unaware of a fate written <br />Long before the birth of the God blessing him. <br />His ancient namesake fell to failure, <br />Wise ancestral warnings swallowed <br />By the bottomless waters of history, <br />For his vanity eclipsed even the sun, <br />Its heat melting the glue of freedom <br />Into sanguine liquor spilled. <br /> <br />Who will lift you now, proud America? <br />The impoverished world stands guard, <br />Tide swelling with satisfaction, <br />Receding in global relief. <br /> <br />In the dew of dawn, as spectators drift <br />To witness Big Bangs on distant shores, <br />America the Humbled will trudge slowly onto sand, <br />Washed clean of her crimes in a baptism <br />Of vengeance, clipped clear of her wings, <br />But steady on her feet. <br />And she might once again, <br />Like a baby after an interlude with a light socket <br />Remember what it is to be alive.<br /><br />Lori Boulard<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/icarus-of-america/
