Hands That Rock Cradles - Rule Worlds Poem by Panmelys

Born into an age long flown into winds
of which no rerurn will ever revive -
glory

Europe moves slowly into new shoes
painfully slides pinched feet, winces -
sighs

preparing to meet untrained role-size
as a museum: welcoming tourists, wearing -
smiles.


Grudgingly awakes, stretches, yawns, opens closed
shutters, long drawn curtains, hiding whisp'ring
mutters

Guarding jealously privacy, prides, wary of
clicking cameras, snipers, foreign rivals -
providers
of her survival: she no longer has choice,
as she watches... amazed; dazed, as she
fumbles.


As she clings to adored customs, sees all
is installed under proud noses - money -
moguls,

hungering after her shores, hungry seekers -
searching other outlets - spreading out -
riches

pamphlets, treading on cent'ries buil to secure,
what she most prizes, of skies azure -
liberty.


Freedom of speech, fraternity, democracy:
sounds moan moodily, in maturity -
'Hands that rock cradles, rule worlds' - America's
Walt Whitman voicing wise words: visionary -
Springing free-verse into being!

Panmelys 2015