There is a flag on the ground.
Hid in swamp,
marked by mud,
Wet with dream-tears,
Stained with blood-sorrow
and sweat-anger,
Ragged with world-vision.
Stitched by a million hands,
Kissed with new joy,
Tucked away in cellars,
Folded in whispers,
kept warm with old hope.
Until dragged into daylight,
hoisted high above heads,
Carved into monuments,
It quickened hearts,
loosened tongues,
Rattled throats like chains.
Until torn asunder,
thrown to wind,
Buried in dust-
There is a flag on the ground.
Pick it up.
