Baskadia

America

Whatever happened to America?

Where did it go?

The country I once knew, oh so long ago -

filled with people, honest and true.

where scoundrels stood out, as apparent, as they were few.

Where did you go America, whatever happened to you?

The America that I once knew,

The America that Norman Rockwell knew,

and painted so accurately, well and true;

whatever has become of you?

I remember, as a child, of your life, so rough and wild.

Now, no matter where I look, I cannot catch a glimpse of you.

But that is not entirely true,

for on occasion, a rare glimpse, I do catch of you.

Once, in the eyes of an old man, I caught a glimpse of you.

He sat all alone, in front of his old run-down home,

forgotten by family to busy to care,

he had outlived his friends, with whom life he did share.

Sitting alone, as the world rushed by,

but for some reason I noticed a slight twinkle in his eye.

I stopped to stare, although I didn’t know why -

He seemed plain enough, as I took him in my gaze.

His hair all askew, his face weathered with age, yet there was something about him, something I knew.

So I stood there and studied him, for a minute or maybe two.

There was something special about him, that much I knew.

I studied his eyes and there did I see,

the fire that had attracted me.

It caused me to think, of another time, of another place,

where that same fire was commonplace.

As I looked deeply in those tired old eyes,

I began to recognize, something from long ago,

something that just wouldn’t let me go.

It caused a stirring deep inside, causing me to be, really alive.

I stood there staring at a face that before I had never seen,

yet he knew me much better than any other human being.

He looked at me, steady and sure, knowing me well, of that I am sure.

Slowly a smile strengthened his face,

and his eyes twinkled as he nodded an embrace.