Art, Poetry
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I can hear America

I can hear America

Thru the language of English

That hybrid abomination

St. Charles influenced French

Bastardization of Nomadic seamen

Corrupted by Charlemagne

Twisted into bliss by a bard

And now the source of anguish

Upon which Asian children frown

 

And thru that stolen language

I hear hope and desperation

Confused by theft and exceptionalism

Words bought thru slavery

Domesticated by statesman

And spun again to make new

A hybrid of old and innovation

Imperious to fascism control

And used to imprison it’s own

 

And tho I know not what is standard

A rule has been set in stone

Thru a book entitled Webster

And encoded by a Strunk and a White

There a bastard is adopted

And raised to be the modern Latin

Now simplified for everyone

For I can hear America

Why it’s on the tip of my tongue

 

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This entry was posted in: Art, Poetry

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My name is Michael and during my free time I avoid having a day job. Strangely enough, this gives me the freedom to run this blog. I write just about anything that can be considered art. I also occasionally post articles that may or may not be relevant to the theme of this site. You’ve been warned.

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