- Non-Erotic Poetry
- The Flag
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March 13, 2003
The Flag
Oh how the colors bleed true, on this Easter morn.
Eiré will become free, to rise a breath new air.
No longer under the leather clad boot of the English, who
stomping out flames of rebellion and protest,
now cross her and them at the fork with guns raised.
Firing on their open hearts with their stone faces.
Closing the gap between them all, uniting them for a common cause.
My great grandmother raised funds for DeValera and Collins.
Going from door to door, taking what little the people had to offer.
A penny here, a penny there, they were all for the good cause,
the godly cause. The recognition of righteousness and
lack of restrictions. Seeing now her name
carved in stone, carved into my hollow heart forever.
She shall stay there, solid in stone until everything is whole again.
So longer separate, but whole and complete.
I now think back to a time before me
“Her eyes they closed and her last breath spoke,
She had seen all to be seen.
A life once full, now an empty vase,
Wilt some blossoms on her early grave.*”
Paraphrased from Flogging Molly’sWhat’s Left of the Flag
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