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Writer's pictureRabbi Who Has No Knife

American Gaunt.


The Arrival of the Pilgrim Fathers- Antonio Gisbert

I


This thorny throne

Who tears all purple,

Whose red hot Iron

Crown, hath burnt

All princely brows

This vast Earth,

By Seas, Mounts, deserts,

Hot and cold and straits

Most dire,

Separated was from

The sinful World,

Who her hath birthed

To shelter from

Sin and tyranny.


This house of

Orphans, this harbor

Of shipwrecks, who

A Wind most blessèd,

Hither them hath swept to give,

New birth to Liberty

And to Man,

Long expired in shackles,

No better than his beasts of burden.


Those mountains, which on either side,

Reach up as pillars,

To hold this blessed

Firmament.


These plains, as vast courtyards atwixt,

Were made for happy men,

To prosper in unfearing

Independence.


The rivers wide and long,

Highways by God alone were made,

To bind them all in

Fraternity eternal.


These shores benign and mild,

Who all goodness is Flown to and fro;


This America.


II


1951 poster titled “Celebrate the 30th Anniversary of the Birth of the Chinese Communist Party.”

This America,


Is now sold, to

The corruptors of the Earth,

Theives of mothers' wombs,

Who steal e'en the very

Limbs of their poor

Subjects.


These malignent, torpid

Emperors, who won't

Dignify their servants

By wearing crowns.


These abysmal, bloated

Suite-and-tied toads,

These honey-bears,

Who feed on produce

And producer alike.


To them bow, worship,

Protection, abeyance is paid,


These enemies of Nature

And of her God,

Who so hate Him

That made them,

That all His Laws they

Utterly abhore.


Right, Law, Land and kinship,

All ought be destroyed

So the world be made

Anew in their image.


So all fields be rendered

Infertile, all rivers poison,

All men eunuchs, all

Women horrid scepters.


All prayers carried,

But in their name,

In the name of

The Party, the Chairman,

And the Little Red Book.


III


This America,


Not most sinful,

Best in virtues, works,

Stands now blamed, without

Defender, friend, poet,

For blood spilled

By her guilty, her

Innocents alike.


All is upended

Truth, jutice and

Her own way,

Decried, denounced

Recanting through her

Grinding, grating teeth.


Her blessed fathers,

Jefferson, Lincoln,

Godly Washington,

Their very names

Banished, by these

Heathen devout of

The Void and its cold

Constellations, stars,

These shamans without

Gods, who fear names, fuels,

Things innumerable,

Not of the spirit.


So fearful they are,

Left and right trembling,

That the giants who built,

That which they can't,

Shall stir at their graves

Noble, rising at their names

Uttered in reverence.


To wreak vengeance on

The plunderers of

Their legacy, estate

Of Liberty to

All of God's children

Who speak freely, with tongues

Untied, truth that they hate.


Not men, heartless fools,

Made us free, not men

Shall enslave us 'gainst

Our own wills, but God

Almighty He is

Author sole of our

Liberty, alone

He is her great

Protector and Lord.

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