America is the land of dreams
Only because everyone is sleeping
Nothing is what it seems
Its children are quietly weeping
Glam, glitz, all those shiny things
Pursuit of happiness year-round
Who knows when the fat lady sings
Or words are whispered profound
Watching an empire in decline
Must be frustrating from within
What’s mine is mine, what’s yours is mine
Is no longer seen as sin
You may do this, I tell you, it is permitted. Begin again the story of your life.
Jane Hirshfield
1994ever 