top of page

The Great Regression - A Poem

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Back in high school, I'd read somewhere that novelists only sought to better the page, while essayists strove to perfect the paragraph, but poets meant to master every word. Therefore, writing poetry was supposedly the best way to increase a writer's skill. So, I wrote quite a few poems in my late teens and early twenties, hoping to hone my talents... Let's just say the results left something to be desired. This poem, however, was written a couple of years ago and is the first I've written in nearly eight years. So, go easy on me!

Those southern ghosts have returned—

Turns out we’d buried them too shallow.

Our comfort in victory was unearned,

As our country now falls under their shadow.

Ghost faces come bearing body armor and black rifles,

The would-be racial purifiers of our commonwealth.

“True patriots,” these hateful specters hand out human bridles,

While industry offers only carbon salves for your health.

Those ghosts declare, “Praise the gun but loathe the killer,

For the unborn deserve another chance to die!

You must love the Earth but let it wither,

Because harmony is just a leftist lie!”

Then they cry, “You’re either with us or you’re our enemy!”

As they cut out any tongue that disagrees.

Racism, Fascism, Nationalism—their unholy Trinity,

And they’ll use it to bend all knees.

Know now that our time has come and gone,

Of that, there is no question.

Our divisions expand and that shining city’s moved on,

Amidst our nation’s Great Regression.

The Grand Experiment has reached its pitiful close,

Leaving behind only the Founders’ bad checks and empty balances.

The voters can only blame the ones they chose,

For our “wise” leaders failed our time’s great challenges.

And yet there is still some hope—

But not in this life, don’t be confused,

Because we’re at the end of our rope,

Now that those ghosts have replaced it with a noose.

But the planet will keep on turning,

A slow precession across the stars.

And remember when the Earth is burning,

That the next world is surely ours.

Those vengeful ghosts cannot take it from us—

They will lose this fight,

For God has chosen only the most gracious of us

To join Her in Her light!

Hope you enjoyed this poem! Let me know in the comments if you think I should write another (or never do this again). Now, please subscribe to my site if you haven't already. Also, read my short stories. Oh yeah, and buy my book, maybe? Don't know if you heard, but it, uh, got EDITOR'S PICK from BookLife (I'm gonna ride that scooter into the ground, fam). So, it might be worth a look, y'know?

3 views0 comments


bottom of page