When this place grows untenable
where will its sad talent move –
those strong and young enough to run
with something left to prove?
What exit is there from the haven
that served in the past
to shelter those escaping from
freedom’s iconoclasts?
Where in the world will it be safe,
beyond this empire’s clutch?
What open principality
could offer half as much,
or prove themselves a thriving home
for those now tempest-tossed,
who flee with scarcely wherewithal
to reckon what they’ve lost?
Whose loving arms will welcome them,
these broken, hurting ones
that only know prosperity,
not bombs, disease, and guns?
When this, our country, falls diseased
and forces us to flee,
just who give us refugees
our life and liberty?
Where will we work to earn our keep,
feed our lust to consume?
Can we adapt to foreign life,
and in harsh soil, still bloom?
If this place grows untenable,
what will the options be,
and who will help us pay the cost
to stay alive, and free?
03 FEB 2017
