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THE YEAR AMERICA (almost) DIED

Sometimes I recall that awful year
when we were almost split asunder,
the riots, arson and pervasive fear
and molotovs exploding like thunder.

Anarchists and ANTIFA ran rife
as leftist "leaders" just looked on
at terrorists who valued no life
they filled the skies with smoke each dawn.

I guess they thought we'd stand aside
while their communist agenda rose
and they shut down freedom far and wide.
They'd soon regret the course they chose

In Virginia we finally made a stand
and caught them by surprise
stopping the pillage of that fair land
finally bringing fear to their eyes.

They had blocked off old Richmond,
swarmed the city declaring it was theirs.
The citizen soldiers came at dawn;
surrounded them and split no hairs.

For it had come to them or us.
At last they saw what We would do.
They might riot ,bully , they could cuss.
They all laid dead when we were through.

Their corpses were thick among the rubble.
their leaders swung from lamps and trees.
We united almost too late to end the trouble.
The smell of death tainted the breeze.

The American army just stood aside.
They'd sworn to uphold the constitution
not traitors who'd just run and hide.
A million patriots then hit Washington.

Trials of traitors in the capital halls
when martial law was at last declared;
then swift justice against pitted walls
after politicians' corruption was laid bare.

And we'd swollen to two million men
black , white, yellow all of one mind
We headed toward New York then.
Suddenly the enemy was hard to find.

Just like that, the riots stopped
everywhere across this land.
Yet surveillance cameras had not stopped.
We dug out those who would destroy our land.

It took a bit over a year
to capture, try and execute our foe.
Many left our country running in fear.
United people let them go.

Now all of the race baiters are gone
as well as the corruption they depended on.
Black, white ,yellow, red divisiveness they'd worked on
at last came to an end with the new dawn.

I was already old that year.
I know that my end is coming near.
Sometimes I must choke back a tear
for now no one must live in fear.....

Style / type: 
Structured: Western
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Last few words: 
This is an imaginary poem from the same viewpoint that a WW2 soldier likely had about freeing the world from the Nazis
Editing stage: 
Content level: 
Not Explicit Content
Opt-in: Neopoet AI will critique your poem.

Comments

Hmmm.... good idea. I'll let it rattle around my empty head a while

author comment

Hello Stan, great poem, I'll have to return to re-read it. Of course fear has returned, as it always does. Humankind will never change, collectively. I hate to be so dreary, but it's what I think.
My Mom used to knit balaclava helmets, rolled silver paper from cigarette boxes into balls, and other stuff. All sent overseas to the soldiers, I think the silver paper was used for some kind of armaments, dunno.
Keep writing, your poetry fascinates me. I still haven't corrected a former poem that I posted, you gave me good ideas. Sorry, will get down to it.
All the best, Gracy

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"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

I am pleased you liked this poem. I wasn't born until the second world war was over so I have nothing but other people's tales of the sacrifices made by every day people on the home front. And don't worry about not editing your poem as I just throw ideas out and don't expect people to use them unless the idea suits them

author comment

Hi again, Stan. I re-read your poem and it's powerful, sad and well layed out. Good rhyming throughout. My father's two brothers died in WWII, his sister drowned under suspicious circumstances and his mother became an alcoholic due to all these tragedies. Her husband had already died, in his forties. So one of my uncles remained in the UK to look after her and my Dad sailed to Argentina. He did fairly well and managed to give us a good education. He married very late in life.
No, I really must edit that poem, you took a lot of trouble over it. Hope I can tomorrow. All the best.

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"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

For dropping by again

author comment

Thank you, Stan. Gracy

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"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

I am surprised there is no mention of the assault on your democracy on 6th January this year. I'm afraid I don't know any of the other references, maybe they refer to your civil war in C19. Some notes for non-US readers would have helped..

I apologize for not seeing your comment. This is a poem about what Could happen if the conservatives finally decide enough is enough not something based on history. Hopefully we can get our elections back to being honest and we can cure our country via the ballot box

author comment
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