Moon Landings 2.

Your American Dream,
worn thin through decades,

your nightmare now risen,
waking politics of rage.

Your mark on your ballot,
with a right-to-win hope,

your future is threatened
by the electorate’s vote.

Your democracy is rotten,
rusted blood in her veins,

your Statue of Liberty
is lit up by hate’s flames.

Your family, once docked,
fleeing foreign distrain,

your salt-sprayed forebears,
would they want to remain?

Your Libertas should turn,
look back on her lands,

Your Dream she won’t see,
with her face in her hands.

Following – Moon Landings 1.