Revised Amanda Gorman

In the shadow of a hill we were meant to climb,  
Amanda spoke of light, of unity,  
a vision of hope rising like dawn,  
yet here we stand,  
fractured by echoes of promises unkept.  

The air thick with rhetoric,  
leaders call for togetherness,  
but their words twist into weapons,  
once a call to gather,  
now a chorus of blame,  
casting shadows on the very hill we seek.  

In the name of progress,  
the weight of division grows,  
political opponents drawn as villains,  
silenced not by reason,  
but by fear,  
demonized in the guise of justice.  

We were promised a shared ascent,  
but the path is littered with walls,  
each line drawn deeper,  
each accusation a chasm,  
the spirit of hope drowned  
in the clamor of discontent.  

Where is the compassion,  
the bridge-building we yearned for?  
Instead, a theater of conflict unfolds,  
with the pigs at the farmhouse,  
their intent cloaked in false unity,  
while the rest of us huddle in the barn,  
our aspirations trampled beneath ambition.  

Let us remember,  
the promise was never just a climb,  
but a journey of hearts,  
woven with threads of understanding,  
not a battleground,  
but a shared space for all to tread.  

So here we stand,  
at the foot of that hill,  
yearning for true vision,  
for a chorus that lifts us,  
not divides us further,  
where every voice matters,  
and every step is a step toward one another,  
not a march towards power.