Family migration seeking refuge from persecution in
The USA
I hope that with thoughts of heartfelt
Compassionate for your ancestry
Compassionate for your ancestry
We can set our defense systems
Aside in favor of mustering compassion for
Men, women and children who are desperately
Seeking safe haven from heartless persecution—
Right now—leaving me to ask how can
Anyone win a presidential election, who
Leads our nation toward tearing children from
The arms of destitute mothers and fathers, who—
Like our ancestors, are presently seeking asylum in
The USA in the only way that makes sense to them—walking
Walking, hopefully away from the only homes they know
In hopes of making their way toward the same sense of
Personal freedom that our ancestors had hoped to
Off their young while praying, with every step they take that
The words engraved for all time upon the base of
The lady holding forth the torch in the harbor will burn as
Brightly for them as my grandparents pinned
Their hopes and prayers upon being embraced by
Those who had already established residency so as to
Offer my family honest work with which to support
My parents, and as a result of compassionate acceptance
Both of my grandmothers, along with my mother and father
Beamed as I crossed the stage to collect
My college diploma—with honors before my sister did the same
About four years back, in the immediate aftermath of
My mother's death, my intuitive powers sat me down to
Pen the stories of my grandparents' migration from
Persecution in Russia and Poland to spiritual salvation
Found in the USA. At that time I did not know of
The existence of a tablet that exists inside
The Lady's pedestal upon which is engraved
The following sonnet, written by Emma Lazarus (1849-1887):
Like our ancestors, are presently seeking asylum in
The USA in the only way that makes sense to them—walking
Walking, hopefully away from the only homes they know
In hopes of making their way toward the same sense of
Personal freedom that our ancestors had hoped to
Off their young while praying, with every step they take that
The words engraved for all time upon the base of
The lady holding forth the torch in the harbor will burn as
Brightly for them as my grandparents pinned
Their hopes and prayers upon being embraced by
Those who had already established residency so as to
Offer my family honest work with which to support
My parents, and as a result of compassionate acceptance
Both of my grandmothers, along with my mother and father
Beamed as I crossed the stage to collect
My college diploma—with honors before my sister did the same
About four years back, in the immediate aftermath of
My mother's death, my intuitive powers sat me down to
Pen the stories of my grandparents' migration from
Persecution in Russia and Poland to spiritual salvation
Found in the USA. At that time I did not know of
The existence of a tablet that exists inside
The Lady's pedestal upon which is engraved
The following sonnet, written by Emma Lazarus (1849-1887):
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes
Command the air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes
Command the air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
And so I ask, what will our governing body, so newly elected to represent each of us, choose to do with the tired, poor, huddled masses, marching toward our border, yearning to breathe free and praying to save their children from harm? Shall we lift the LADY’s lamp, guiding the homeless toward the golden door of liberty for all or shall we feel the dark chill of cold-hearted souls blow out the torch while tearing terrified children from the arms of parents desperate for a better life before we hear echoes of 'LOCK the lot of THEM UP'?
Do you realize that more than 200 terrified children, whom trump had separated from their parents are still separated from their parents?
Do you realize that the whereabouts of some of those children have been lost in the system?
Do you remember German soldiers saying: I was just following orders?
Do you realize that more than 200 terrified children, whom trump had separated from their parents are still separated from their parents?
Do you realize that the whereabouts of some of those children have been lost in the system?
Do you remember German soldiers saying: I was just following orders?
Oh My God!
What are we to do?
I do not pretend to have intuitive answers to questions that must torment the intelligence of most of our elected officials; what I have done is my best to cast my vote for kind hearted men and women, elected to speak for me, because generation after generation—history repeats itself—and that’s why it’s not enough to sing hymns of kindness in churches or to faithfully recite words imprinted in prayer books in unison in synagogues throughout the nation or bow humbly to the ground in mosques and then close our eyes and turn away from the plight of families seeking asylum, today—it is the responsibility of each next generation inclusive of our own to conscientiously seek deep within heart and soul in hopes of financing intelligent, compassionate ways to resolve life’s most distressing controversial conundrums by reminding ourselves that our future is in the hands of today's children, and the heart of society as a whole is judged by the ways that tender hearted, innocent children—all children—not just your children and mine—are handled with grace—NOT manhandled—for God sake!
Hmmm ...
What are we to do?
Hmmm ...
What are we to do?
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