Miscarriage Of Ideals

Oh beautiful for spacious skies.
And amber colored waves of grain.
With purple mountains rising,
Over the land of the free and brave...
As voices are heard to sing praises,
To a home all patriots call America.

America.
Going through the pain,
A miscarriage of ideals.
Staining the fabric,
Of a quilt depicting...
To have been created,
From reliable and known to follow...
Steady habits.
None to have seemed these days,
Wanted to wish...
With smiles glistening.
And white teeth expose gleaming bright.

Who laid these seeds to have believed,
Would stay permanently cemented?
Who had it been to deceive,
A place known as home...
Where the Buffalo are free to roam condoned,
Was a picture to paint a perfection it ain't.
Yet...
A miscarriage of ideals.
Appealing to quacks whacked out on crack.
On the wrong track.
Addicts.
Drugged on power.
Grabbing as much of it to get and quick.
With it to fade today; gone tomorrow tactics!

However...
Taking too long,
For an awakened consciousness...
To give a forgiveness expected to heal,
The many embracing...
Ethnic diversity as their cure-all.

Too late to anticipate,
A collective performance of faith...
Returns insight,
To those homemade taught to stay blind.
Too late it is,
For progress anticipated.
And allowed to move forward.
With too many making attempts to prevent,
The natural blooming from birth to grow.
A birth only time given has shown,
Bestows to benefit what God intends.
Without interference,
From those chosen and anointed self serving.
Capable with abilities to manipulate.
As well as achieve,
One unexpected failure after another!
Proving incompetence,
Around long enough to observe and witness...
Can become applauded and welcomed,
As successful as mediocrity represented...
Can get.