"Giant Wound"
At the feet of a giant nation
Lies a great boil
Dripping with pus and blood.
Decades of sheer neglect
Has heighten the stench of its rottenness
And all remedy seems to fall short.
What good is your strength when you can't walk?
What good is your vision, when you can't run?
What good are your riches, when you can't enjoy them in peace?
The facade of their admiration
Has blinded you from your need to heal
So you saunter about like an antiquated peacock.
The world you once attracted flees from you
No one wishes to stand your fall to shame.
Except your praise singers
Whose voices will grow dim when your feet touches the dust of your grave.
Would you not heed the call in your soul?
Would you not listen to your sons and daughters bearing placards of hope?
Or would you let the fading stories of your glory days
Lull you into perpetual silence?
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