A piece of Writing of my view of the Belfast flag protests
Baaaaaahh... |
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... |