An ode to the sacrifices of the past...

and I wonder of the reality we have created...

I had a dream the other night, I did not understand.

There was a figure walking through the mist with a flintlock in his hand.

His clothes were torn and tattered, as he stood there by my bed.

He took off his three cornered hat, and speaking low, he said: "We fought a revolution to secure our liberty, and we wrote the constitution as a shield from tyranny.

For our future generations, this legacy we gave, in this the land of the free, and home of the brave.

The freedom we secured for you, we hoped you'd always keep. But tyrants labored endlessly while your parents were asleep.

Your freedom gone, your courage lost, you're no more than a slave in this land of the free and home of the brave.

You buy "permits" to travel, and "permits" to own a gun, "permits" to start a business, and "permits" to build a home.

You live on land you believe to be your own, but you pay a yearly rent, just to keep a home.

Your children attend a school that doesn't educate, and your moral values can't be taught, according to the state.

You read about news in a very biased press, and you pay a tax you do not owe to please the IRS.

Your money is no longer made of silver or of gold; you have traded your wealth for paper, so your life can be controlled.

You are just a number, there's no family honor that you hold.

You've given government control, to those who do you harm, as they padlock your businesses and steal the family farm.

Can you regain the freedom for which we fought and died?

Or don't you have the courage, or the faith to stand with pride?

Just what would you fight to save?

Aren't you sick of being just a government slave?

Sons of the Republic, arise and take a stand! Defend our Constitution, the supreme law of the land.

Preserve our great republic, and each God given right!

And pray to God to keep the torch of freedom burning bright."As I awoke he vanished in a mist from whence he came.

His words were true, we are not free, and we have ourselves to blame.

For even now as tyrants trample our God given rights, we only stand and tremble, too afraid to stand and fight.

If he stood by your bedside in a dream while you were asleep, and asked you what had happened to the rights he died to keep, What would be your answer if he called out from the grave?

"Is This Still The Land Of The Free And The Home Of The Brave?"

This poem written by Thelen Paulk.