America Mourns (A Lament for Our People)

Beneath the vast skies, where freedom was born,
Echoes a sorrow, weary and worn.
Fields once fertile, now shadowed with grief,
Hearts heavy with memories, fragile and brief.

The rivers that carved our hopes so wide,
Now carry whispers of tears we’ve cried.
Mountains stand silent, witnesses to pain,
Their echoes of loss like a haunting refrain.

From bustling cities to quiet plains,
Silence grows louder amidst the strains.
Faces turned downward, eyes dim with despair,
Seeking solace in the heavy air.

Yet within this mourning, a flicker remains—
Of courage, carved deep in our collective veins.
For though our hearts ache, burdened and torn,
Hope’s fragile blossom persists, reborn.

America mourns, but also stands,
Bound together by unseen hands.
Through darkest nights and stormiest weather,
Our spirit endures, mourning, but tethered together.