The Persistence of Liberty

The fields are quiet now,
Where once guns and cannon blazed,
Charged by desires for freedom,
Against whom tyranny’s hand was raised.

Thirteen met in solemn accord,
Their pens whose strokes forged liberty,
Their deliberations heated but sound,
Promised hope for their posterity.

Darkness spread in other lands,
The words of good men were hushed,
Through which strode the hideous iron-clad boot,
Beneath which men’s souls were crushed.

Yet torch held high with pride,
In a land on which good Fortune smiled,
Held hope in that old promise,
For which honest men had died.

But posterity’s memory faded,
By which the corrupt prospered,
The banner torn but not fallen,
Reviled in deed and word.

And now duty beckons,
Across all those years gone by,
To those whom power is entrusted,
Who are evasive in their reply.

A storm looms past the horizon,
Whose winds silently grow great,
Before which the tattered banner unfurls,
And for thunder the quiet fields await.