Myopia

Reverently it rested,
faithfully it waits.
Once it power crested,
its impact abates.

We tell the stories,
as we'd like them.
Tales of past glories,
our bright shining gem.

The sharp contrast,
fades away.
As we go from the past,
only the bright stays.

But that we could see,
what we've done.
The story by decree,
tells us none.

If we could know,
what there was.
Then we could grow,
if not because,

The time is coming,
when checks are cashed.
And we'll be paying,
for a dark past.

We won't know what we did,
to earn this dark strife.
And so of our oppression rid,
and with it take another life.

On and on this dance will play,
because we let the truth die.
Never to see a brighter day,
Because we could not say "it was I".