A Wounded Flag
They shot our flag, to which we pledged.
Its wounded stars are bleeding.
Humiliation, pride, and rage
In weeping candles, leading
To people who are still alive
Beneath the torch of freedom,
To loved ones who did not survive,
To those who will succeed them.
By force of habit, our eyes
Explore the lights for hours,
Observing emptiness in skies
Where once there stood the Towers.
At crossings of the blazing roads,
The people yearn for answers.
My candle burns, my mind explodes
With agitated stanzas.
A Wounded Flag
© Copyright: Анатолий Берлин, 2014
Свидетельство о публикации №114091102703
Свидетельство о публикации №114091102703
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