The Second Love

This was an assigned poem for my Literature--I thought it turned out splendidly actually. I said what I meant to say, in the way I meant to say it. We were required to present our poems in class on Tuesday. Needless to say, that experience was positively thrilling. (!!!)

P.S. It isn't suppose to ryhm, just in case you were wondering. It is a "list poem."

The Second Love

The strains of “Beautiful Dreamer” are floating down the alley, played by an amateur violinist.

Debussy is dancing his way across the ivories in the concert hall on Main.

The eloquent echoes of forefathers long passed are ringing in my ears, and “Give me liberty, or give me death!” in all its thunder, continues to resonate through all of our souls.

Life tastes sweet to me here on Liberty Street.

In the harbor a lady stands, stately and majestic in her glory, she is ushering in the boats of a host of foreign searchers, searchers who must find their hearts desire.

Black, white, red, yellow—they all come with vision, and are welcomed by the lady’s beacon of glory, and book of truth.

Far beyond human knowledge was a land yet untried, yet untamed—in the imagination of men’s hearts it was bursting with blessings unbounded.

The call of the unknown became irresistible to the searcher—he must continue on in boldness of purpose—or die in restless curiosity.

The deafening sound of leave-taking rose up in the East; westward ho, the forty-niners go, on to the bitter brightness of the coast.

What can be said of these relentless wanderers?

What is this passion so strong as to tear them away from every warm hearth of familiarity?

It is that which continues to urge our feet forward, not now in conquest, but in a quest born of the freedom fires in our veins,

It is that status as the guardian of liberty that has led infantry to foreign fields of bloody battle, there to fight for freedom with every breath breathed.

It was by that same spirit that the dreadful swastika was destroyed in fire and brimstone.

It was by that same spirit that the Saddam statue fell.

And it is by that same spirit that we continue on, here in the land of the free, living out our lives as conscience dictates.

Up the marble steps go my eager feet; up the steps and through the foyer, they lead me, finally coming to rest as I settle in a mahogany bench.

There is a window here, the panes of which are colored and collected into a kaleidoscope of brilliance; the form of a lamb is visible in its pattern, and my eyes trace its fleece lovingly.

The organ swells, the people sing praise to the peak of a loud crescendo—and then all is quiet.

The preacher begins with a prayer, and all present have faith that the Lord of all is there.

The people have no fear of penalty or persecution—that which their forebears have borne.

They live in a land where faith is honored, and not punished, is worn proudly, and not hidden in the darkness of midnight masses.

Here is the haven where no tyrant may penetrate.

Here is the haven where dreamers dream unstintingly, and with greater abandon then ever elsewhere.

Out of love and devotion was this haven born.

Out of faith and fealty to the Master was it established.

So it is that by the workings of the first love has the second been given life.

My soul comprehends that suppressed, yet sacred phrase, “one nation under God.”

This is the second love, offspring of the holy first.

This is the first love made manifest—that firm foundation upon which this haven was built—thus the first love gives birth, then life, and then growth forevermore to that second love, so precious.