The Heartbroken Patriot

The mountain men and pioneers
Who came across the sea,
Who climbed the highest mountains
Who tamed the creek and tree,
Who crossed the open wastelands,
Who wandered to be free;
America who made us
She can no longer see.

Where once it was required
To take what help you got,
The virtue of non-judgement
Was forged in battles fought
With armies and with nature,
Survival tied the knot;
Whoever helped you win today
Was brother in your lot.

This was the spirit of my land
And still remains today:
Open-minded optimism
Is the patriot’s way.
His nature blinds him to the fact,
No matter what they say,
That no one else reciprocates
His spirit in their stay.

The spirit of my nation,
Though I feel it in my heart,
Has doomed itself to death for what
Preserved it at the start;
Abandoning its soul would make
Our country fall apart,
But keeping to this spirit
Is a sure and mortal dart.

Dulce et decorum est,
If only that would aid,
But dying only hastens what
He’s longing to dissuade,
Not that it would matter
For the patriot’s mind is made:
He cannot look at what he loves
And see his heart betrayed.

The Yankee loves his open hand,
His optimistic eye,
He loves that anyone could be
The man with whom he’d fly.
What is held and done from love
Is past the prophet’s cry.
America, for love of self,
Has doomed itself to die.

C.B. Robertson
C.B. Robertson is the author of "In Defense of Hatred" and "Letter to Anwei." He lives with his wife and daughter in the Pacific Northwest.