The flag I chose

As I solely stared out into the darkened battlefield I saw no lives I saw puppets My few comrades wondered why I felt for them? I ran years ago... Chose I live for myself, not for the White collared sheep living in the coloured white house.

Now, both factions fighting over the same dead outcome of being alone with their version of the same silent deity that cries for them every night while alone on the cool meadows. Yet still they fight, killing everything in their path... Why cannot they sing carols over the misty mudded field.
For just one day.

As I lifted up the blooded, bullet ridden Husk of my colours that I follow
Innocent white
I felt the hot rage for the potters dead hand hit me all over
knock me over until I boiled

But my life scared them
Living for my own version of God
Not what they were told to believe
I made them think
the blood and the bullet
and the death and the disease that corrupted so many




Stopped...

Hands were linked
Love was seen
Love was felt
in new ways
seen in the poppies that flowered
over the bodies survive by them

Never lived
Never forgotten
Never loved
Never had their lives for themselves

Like so many people I know...