DRAMATIC MONOLOGUE Poem: THE LAND, by Brock Townsend

Green rolling grass and growing pines as far as the eye can see.
3 board fences painted tar-black and dirt paths mark the road.
Inheritance split by barbed wire fences, built by the hands of the future as the eyes of the
past watched them. This land is bought and paid for by generations whose remains lie in a
graveyard off the beaten path, marred by the passing of time.

Thus, a legacy of triumphs and failures begins.
Like the moon’s siren call to the ocean
this land cries out to me
of legends of outlaws and bandits
turning into preachers and teachers.
Wisdom imparted or lost.
History repeated and of monsters defeated.
Here lies my birthright
This is a precious gift to me.
Combining past, present, and future

The creed of the land is the way to be a man, A Grandfather tells his grandson.
It’s The way of life of those who came before.
In a man’s hands lies his strength
in his heart, his love
in his lungs, his passion
in his eyes, his hope
His shoulders, fashioned for the yoke of burden
In his feet, his determination
In his mind, his knowledge

Follow the creed, and when time kisses you with its mark.
Your hands will find strength by being held by another
In your hearts, love lives on in other hearts whose love was affected by you.
Your lungs, marked by time with each breath, which burned full of passion in your youth, will
see that passion live on in another.
Till your eyes make that final drop, hope lives on in the legacy you leave behind.
Your shoulders stooped by the yoke’s burden will see another rise to the challenge.
Your feet, by determination, will have trained another to be just as determined as you.
In your mind, the gift of knowledge will be shared everywhere you go.

In the center of it all lies the land the creed lives on for another generation.
If something is lost, will it be found?
Just ask the land because it remembers