Circular Tides

My Heart is in the Southland

My heart is in the Southland,
For better, or for worse.
My roots find deep, rich, sacred earth,
Anointed with blood, and individual worth.

Our past, not a perfect one,
Sins of the father passed to the son.
Torches burning in the long night,
Illuminate strange fruit, a horrific sight.

Our future, uncertain in the prevailing trope,
We plant the seeds for a crop of hope.
Something to sustain against the lingering hate
Bring us together, before it’s too late.

Black water flows, I feel it in my veins,
The distant cry of seabirds, echoes in my brain.
The strength of oaks, courses through my frame,
I run with my dogs and have no one to blame.

The new-age carpetbaggers have come and departed,
Sullied the land with titanium profits.
Still, this Southland sustains me,
With tragic, eternal beauty.

Radiant mornings, golden shades of light,
Blue skies, stretching out of sight.
Burnt orange sunsets after autumn rains,
Winding, tree-lined, country lanes.

Bury me with my brethren and kin,
Play “Dixie” for me, even if it’s a sin.
Etch on the stone for all to understand,
My heart, my soul is in the Southland.