dear mr. president

It isn't quite a fairy tale land,

with waves of dusty air and rising heat

that tricks our eyes. We look across the sand

but nothing's there. You told us they would meet

us with a shout of joy - that they would see

us as a hopeful beacon from the west

and that they'd know we've come to set them free.

But maybe we've forgotten what our quest

was for (if such a thing I dare to say).

I think there's something you forgot to tell:

you never said how long we'd have to stay.

You may have watched as broken statues fell,

but you won't glimpse the mounting piles of dead,

or see this Freedom River running red.