My American Dream

Tip toeing on tight ropes

taut from the tension

between weathered hopes

and tattered dreams

I teeter

 

inches above Hell

and miles from Heaven.

My own screams

from the prisons

of past decisions

awaken me from

My American Dream.

 

Horizons of happiness

always within sight

taunting my reach

rise and fall

as streams of thought

become tributaries of consciousness.

Will I ever be free to dream

My American Dream?

 

I Guess I’ll brew my own brand of joy.

On liquid wings I soar

to my crystal blue palace

on a mountain top horizon

far from brutality

and Homeland INsecurity

I fly high.

 

But…

evaporating wings

cause flight to fail

as my fall goes unnoticed

I accelerate

to 9.8

meters per second squared.

 

Spiraling from height to depth

from life to death

the ground reaches up to break my fall.

I brace myself

for the impact

of my back upon my bed

GASP!!!

 

“Am I dead?”

 

My heart slows its beat

as brief relief

turns to ennui and grief

when I awake to

My American Dream

 

© 2014 Brian Evans.  All rights reserved

 

This poem was inspired by the events surrounding Jonathan Ferrell; who was shot and killed on September 14, 2013, by Randall Kerrick, a North Carolina police officer.  He was unarmed.

 

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 BE

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