It’s too dark to see in the dawn’s early light.
The horizon is blurred,
The smoke glows red.
There’s fire everywhere,
But nothing burns.
Broad stripes expand through sky,
Once placed on bright stars,
Float to Earth,
Fall to the ground, ash,
Now seen as a comforting blanket.
Children of the hatred,
Anger stained lungs,
Breathing in fresh corruption,
In the rocket’s red glare.
Mists of the deep hang heavy,
Gray background to systematic existence,
Blocking out beauty,
Keeping wonder at bay,
Following in deep tread footsteps,
Maintaining the ways.
Restrictions attached by string,
With each wave of republic for which it stands,
Pride in every stride,
Bright shining sign,
Full glory reflected,
Blinding the on looking while citizens avert eyes,
Closed eyelids resting above curved grin.
Yet the one who cannot see,
Is not always the one who is blind.
Mind spinning in battle’s confusion,
One foot planted, the other left behind;
Stand for the people, kneel to the powers.
Cast against movie screen,
All focus on colors of the day,
Efforts placed on civil “problems”
Ignoring the gloom of the grave.
Dawn’s light continues to drown,
Clouded by domestic disputes,
As the world spins madly on,
And we’ll continue to burn in the cold flames,
Yet still, in triumph will wave.
The flag, on the home of the brave.
By: Bethany Maxwell
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.