This Soil I Call Home
They wonder why tearing down monuments rankles. Apparently, they do not know the history of this earth where we are bound. I only know a little, but I know the land is holy.
Once, tribes of indigenous peoples, later called Indians roamed this country. They battled among themselves in societal tribes. They lived, loved, hunted, died, made lives. Then all they owned, all they loved was taken, and they were left, bodies, bleeding into the soil once their heritage.
These conquering Europeans also brought criminals who they restricted and mistreated, tortured, letting some starve, others became indentured servants, used, abused, unpaid. Some finally won free but were still cast down, called trash.
Then industry rose and needed cheap labor, or labor unpaid. So ships brought cargoes of ebony people taken captives from their lands, forced to do the back-breaking, soul stealing work, making greatness by the labor of their hands.
A cry for freedom rung clear, a peal that would not be silenced. The nation, tore asunder, brother against brother, blood was shed. The ground cried out, flooded with scarlet rivers and elsewhere torrential streams of tears.
Other fights, other massacres occurred. A price was always paid in blood, for blood has ever been the sacrifice for freedom. The fighters, their names too numerous to recall, on both sides of the stories gave everything for who we are.
Whether right or wrong they paid, and it is we who should remember. We should let the monuments stand that we never forget how great is the price of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Least in tearing down, we awaken the hungry monster who destruction, war, and death, is named, and allow it to break loose drinking lifeblood again.
© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan
Saturday, January 19, 2019
I am always surprised by inspiration. It usually has no reason nor rhyme. It overtakes me in its own way and time.
For a prompt: Write or otherwise create about an issue that moves you, heart and soul. Be blunt, be real, let it show what you feel. When you access your creativity, you should be your most honest self. Share if you like. If not, allow the revelation to be yours alone.
I hope this suits you. If not, still come again. Have a blessed night.