Don't burn the flag. Wash it!
This is the new blog...CONFESSION ZERO
(Ben heine Illustrations)
Our dreams, our thoughtsWith silent hands groping for light,Folding outward through the streetsIn hunt of a forged hope;What voice do they follow?What path calls to them;The bright toxic dust-spattered air,The founding ships,The bright soil aching for seed,The whimper of a child?Do they seek the stolen,Warped, molten frame of glinting icons?There is no learningIf they pursue the light to shine innocence.There is naught to gleanIn reaffirming glory’s ghost,Igniting the once tall beaconIf they seek to blind over truthAnd not use its sturdy beamTo reinforce new hope.Have they crawled over garbageAnd corpses equally empty of love?While they search do they witness murder,Disease, and the awful voicesCalling to them, “sing the anthem”,“pray for country”, “salute the flag”,“one idea”, “one god”?Have they freely begged, groveled,Pawing that they might mean something?Our ideas, our thoughtsWith silent hands groping for light,Folding outward through the streetsIn pursuit of their own valor;The echo of self-fulfillment,The gaping breast of hubris.What voice do they follow?What path beckons them?Surely not the one that brings them backTo who they were…