Field of Flags, Poem, Rhyme, Politics, World in Need

Field of Flags

I stand in a field of billowing flags

Cascading in one circular, ringed looming side

And the crimson dye does blood red seem

In the wake of re-echoing blood-curdling screams

And the green as free as springs verdant pass

Frozen dreams from the past sleeping restless beneath the grass

And here cresting atop the hill

The golden eagle's victories spill

The earthen-ware chalice empty and worn

Millions of parched throats still sickening drawn

The blue's perfect and fleeting as summer skies

Remembered fondly as youth's innocence dies

White as pure as the victimised swans of Lir

The dichotomy of man with dove and spear

The coloured symbols worthless, meaning lost

As another generation pays the killing cost

Flags spinning and fusing like sycamore wing

One horror, one pain, one selfish king

One funeral parade, one river of tears

Hearts and hopes contorted by fears

And though we are a measure of our years

Our actions mimic the prophecies of ancient seers