Poetry in Narrative.

Rising above it all.

Rising above it all.

My parents are the ones that gave me this wondrous happy life.

They allowed me a chance to be free without any reprimands.

Their parents before them gave their children that same choice.

Migrating from another place or country to this great land.

Now if I look even further back I may find, their parents before them

migrated from some other place, driven away from their homes.

Over those mountains the historic records describe from ages before.

And yes that would be those scattered tribes, forgotten and left alone.

But, back to that point I was making for the blinded of this day.

Unless those of this Nation are of the Apache, Blackfoot or Sioux;

those were just a few of the tribes; we're foreigners in their land;

and this is where it gets sad, we've lost our way to choose.

Our ancestors didn't come with the intent of learning customs,

they came with an agenda of their own and those natives paid for it.

They pillaged and plundered their way through a nation they stole;

until there was literally nothing left but a reckoning; seems a silent fit.

They made it great, even better they'd all shout and claim it so.

Well, those tribes may have a different point of view on the subject.

Even they knew that the land wasn't theirs; and they gave reverence for it.

Now there are those that wish to do the same as before; hello, a reset.

Migrating to a better way, out of tyranny, persecution or worse yet, war.

But, this is just unacceptable to those who have earned so much thus far.

I guess this would be history repeating itself, but, who am I to say.

How soon we forget why our forefathers came, or Who they are.

So when we claim this is our country, don't we really mean what our

fathers and their fathers before them have built for us to live in.

What we have come to call the free land built on the sweat, blood

and trampled remains of those that were here before them.

Let's stop trying to make something better or greater than it already is.

Be thankful that we had a place to live in the fashion of our choosing.

Our fathers knew this and their fathers before; but it's never enough...

We will keep driving out those we do not like; this is called, losing.

Just like those that were driven over those mountains so long ago,

we are afraid of losing that in which we never owned at all.

Just like those before us, cradled and loved by their Father,

shown how to see what causes a lost person to rise above a fall.

A.o.R.