Today, as America celebrates its 250th anniversary, I offer this poem as a son of immigrants, a Christian man, and a grateful citizen who carries both appreciation and concern in his heart. I am thankful for the freedoms this nation has given me, especially the freedom to worship God, speak with conviction, and express the burden of my soul. Yet true celebration must also make room for reflection. America is a nation of promise, sacrifice, beauty, and opportunity, but it is also a nation with wounds that still cry out for mercy, justice, and healing. This poem is not written from hatred, but from love, prayer, and hope that America will remember God, protect the vulnerable, honor the forgotten, and walk again in compassion and righteousness.

Here I stand,
a son of immigrants,
brought to a land without permission,
yet in this place,
I found peace, refuge, and a mission.

America,
I speak to you today.
Help me to see
what some would call
the American way.

A dream so deep
that souls have died,
with hope in their hearts
and tears in their eyes,
dreaming to make
this home their own
beneath your skies.

The land of the free,
the home of the brave.
Yes, indeed,
in you I find
that I am free today.

Free to worship.
Free to speak.
Free to love.
Free to seek
the face of God above,
in all of God’s freedom,
in mercy, truth, and love.

America,
you have been gifted
to be called
the home of the gifted,
a place where many have come,
some with nothing in their hands,
yet carrying dreams
for daughters and sons.

Today,
we celebrate your birth,
from men and women
who saw your worth,
who saw what you would become,
a nation beneath the sun,
still unfinished,
still becoming one.

Yet I still ponder
deep within:

Is there really
an American Dream?

Was it established
in earthly treasure,
in things that fade
and cannot measure
the worth of a soul,
the cry of the poor,
or the pain behind
a closed door?

Should I look up
and see my redemption
from a world
that each day becomes darker,
or should I keep praying
that mercy grows stronger?

I pray for you, America,
that my great-great-grandchildren,
if they are granted to see
the day in America,
may see a land
where no child
shall go to bed hungry,
where tears are not ignored,
and the forgotten
are remembered once more.

Where our veterans
will no longer sleep
in the streets,
where honor is not only spoken
in songs, flags, and speeches,
but shown in the way
this nation reaches.

Where having a job
is enough to survive,
where the working hands
can still stay alive,
where a family can eat,
where dignity can rise,
and hope is not buried
beneath tired eyes.

Where our hearts
turn toward our children,
young and old alike,
where the future is protected,
and the past is treated right.

To see once again
a nation not divided,
a people not blinded,
a country reminded
that freedom is sacred
when love walks beside it.

Oh God,
I ask You to forgive America
of her sins.

Forgive America
for the death of those
who once stood in this land,
removed from their land
by violent hands,
yet their blood
still cries today
from the soil
where they were taken away.

Forgive America
for turning her back
on the ones
who fought
to see us celebrate this day,
the ones we honor in words,
yet too often forget
along the way.

I long to see
that very day
when in the streets
America will say:

This place truly belongs
to the free.

A land for the brave,
a hope for the weak,
a shelter for those
who still dare to seek.

A great speckled bird
for all to see,
wounded, yet watched,
broken, yet free.

America,
may you rise again
not only in power,
but in mercy and truth.

May you remember your God,
may you protect your youth,
may you honor the old,
may you feed the poor,
and may righteousness
stand again at your door.

Here I stand,
a son of immigrants,
still praying for you, America,
still believing God can make
all things new.