Reaching back to remember the innocence, grasping ghosts of an America I loved.
We were about liberty, and justice, and hapiness for all, it has become like ghosts.
I reach back and yet only emerge with a hand full of sorrow and regret.
My heart nearly buckles at the thought of what it is and what I thought it to be.
Wealth, and fame ,and power are at the root of what we have become.
And like the Greeks, and Romans, and Monguls, we shall return to our root.
Reaching back and finding sorrow, for then I still had hope in us.
I fear greatly that reaching ahead is going to leave one with the impression that the world is ending.
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