I dance along the edge of the world
In an America unseen
An America more like a foreign land
Filled with the forgotten children
The world longs to ignore
A new Wild West
Built for struggle and warriors
Yet newly tired
Staring into challenge with pale faces
And sleep-ringed eyes
I dance along the edge of the world
And listen to the platitudes and attacks
Levied against those in a land left behind
As the remembered
Chase the next great moment
In their quest for
Always, endlessly
More – Caroline A. Slee
Well written dear with beautiful sunset scene
Thank you!
You are most welcome dear
I love that photo! Wow, so pretty. It matches your poem nicely, too.
Thank you! That photo was from Pexels – since I’m not the most consistent photographer, I use free images where necessary. 😊
I feel this deeply in my heart. Like “Get Out” when one of the clones reply: “We’re Americans!”
Everything feels disconnected and unreal. This isn’t the place I was born. It’s someplace I don’t know anymore or maybe the mask has just been ripped aside for me now.
What’s the land left behind?
Thank you so much for reading, and your reply. I keep finding pockets of America that feel as though they were never included in our country – populations of disconnected and neglected people. I think it may have always been there, but it wasn’t at the front of our notice. Now, we all have no choice but to see. I am hopeful (always) that we will make an effort to do better for our children.
I understand what you mean. I feel like a balloon,with no heritage and no roots. A family of migrants who valued none of their past, I guess.
What sort of pockets of underserved people do you speak of yourself?
I teach in a community that has a great number of migrant families. I’m grateful to be able to be there. I love what I do and where it takes me.