Poem of Fear

I look around and all that I see is the flag.

That flag.

Our flag.

My flag.

That same flag that I put up every morning.

I raise it up its mast.

But only half.

Half mast.

Half past.

At last.

Dead Last.

That is where we stand in this land.

Our land.

Our land that we call home.

A home we took.

A home we claimed as our own.

A land we stole, iron over stone.

So when we cry to the skies why?

Look to one’s self and ask why you cry.

You feel as if you’re to die.

But what of the others who will die?

The others who have died.

For them will you cry?

Or have them forgotten as the breeze passes over us.

Too many times.

Too many times.

We share in our tears.

And wallow in our fears.

How long will we hide our faces.

Hide in the dark places.

While our brothers die.

While they go and fight our battles.

They fight, day and night, so that  they can come home.

To which home?

The one consumed by the darkness of fear?

The home they left to defend.

We act brave and pretend.

We pretend that we are not scared.

But we are.

We have lived so long in hiding.

That we have forgotten living.

We have forgotten what IT has meant.

What is IT?

What have we forgotten?

I don’t remember, for I never knew.

I only knew the Truthless.

I only met the Ruthless.

It is around us.

It surrounds us.

Covers us like a shroud.

A shroud and cloud of Death.

The dark.

Who will stand when others fall?

Who can be the one, to solve it all?

Will fear be destroyed?

Or chaos employed?

Chaos.

That’s the word.

The word to be used when, fear has evolved.

When it has become more than our pain.

When it has come to drive away the sane.

When it has left nothing at all.

Nothing besides a pitfall.

For us to fall in deeper, and become The Sleeper.

So this is where we are?

Is this where we stand?

As a people?

As a Nation?

Heed the cries of the young.

The words of the wise.

If we cannot stand in bravery.

We die in slavery.

To no other

But ourselves.