The flags fold in on themselves
and the nations give way to earth,
boundaries disappear as quickly
as they bureaucratically appeared,
and the land remains the same,
and the people do not alter.
The flesh and bones are unchanged,
to no-one else are we tethered,
a murderous group are we all,
killing our own, for what gain?
Thanks, Keith. Yes, exactly. Also, something innate in us all wants/needs to possess something/someone.
Jon,
This poem came like a bolt out of the blue as I have often pondered on national boundaries and their significance. They are nothing other than what men draw on maps to delineate territory in order to satisfy gain in one way or another. Yet these separating boundaries do little to alter our innate desire for conquest and brutality, using any excuse. An excellent poem as it provokes some serious thought.
Well done
Thanks
Keith
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Jon Stainsby
Fri 7th Feb 2020 14:42
Thanks, Charlotte and Binte.