The clouds rush inward from the far flung skies,North,South,East,West:the center hurls it's arms.
While on the dark wrack a single Eagle flies,Dwarfed by the towering welkin.The alarms,swords of flame and crashing walls of sound,surround him in flight.His wings no motion show as higher he rises on the tempest's blast,as though at his behest it's bellows blow.
Upon the tortured land his constant eyes look down,dismayed by what his height reveals:a noble folk,bound by a web of lies,blind to all truth that such untruth conceals,march to their slaughter.Suddenly he cries,and magic lightning rends the alien gloom with unaccustomed light.The tortured skies pause for an instant in their spectral storm.
One man,one spirit,greater than the rest.Sees the proud symbol of his folk on high;feeling the mandate growing in his breast he speaks.Words,thoughts,and rising spirits fly.A folk,a nation,join in battle's blast,resisting fate,defiant of their doom,turn toward the call of destiny at last. And dare the craven authors of the storm.Our legions stand in ranks;flags to the skies! Our Founding Fathers,with quiet,measured tread march with us now in spirit from the dead.The leader speaks,the Eagle onward flies;sons of the West unchained,Arise Arise!
P.S.The above poem is just one of a plethora of intellectual poems by the Honorable Henry Haywood Turner III,may his words of wisdom and inspiration live on forever in our hearts and souls.