We went about our days underground
like prairie dogs in a network of dens
Keeping to our families
In the volatile winds above the protective earth
I lifted a flag of colors
that communicated some things to some people and different things to others
The threads of my colors reverberated into a hundred songs that reached
Into the past, into the present, into the future
Into the very souls of some
Threatening their very existence
Disturbing the peace
Funny how the goal was to rekindle it
Maybe my flag of colors was too carelessly crafted
Too slapdash and unexplained
It left too much room for assumption
Perhaps I put red where there should be orange and blue where indigo should go
Nevertheless, the fighting raged on with dips and spikes of emotion and reason
No one knew the true nature of the colors, or where they came from
But they knew what they thought about them and how they made them feel
I wanted to quietly slip my flag back down into the silence of the earth
So no-one would be angry any more
Or if they were, I was not the cause of it, nor could I see it
I could cut the cables and let the flag ripple off into the sky
To land on barren ground and be bleached by the sun and scratched by the earth
Thrown around and torn by uninhibited animals
Until its fragments no longer meant anything anymore
Water takes the path of least resistance; wind blows to areas of low pressure
Is that how we are to act? To raise no flags? To stay neatly within our burrows?
What if we were to stand for the wrong thing, driving a stake between us and our neighbors for an ideology that doesn’t really matter in our day-to-day? What if we can never have all of the facts? Is complacency the enemy? Or is it conflict? Or are they both a necessary part of the cycle of it all?
Why must there be pain in order to make change?
The pain keeps us where we are, harboring us with stinging walls
Perhaps we need walls
Perhaps we need to push through them
My arm ached from holding up the faltering flag
I had to patch it many times due to claws and wind
Though it seemed right to keep it flying proud and high
I was growing sick of constant monitoring and mending
Perhaps I am not a resilient soldier after all
Perhaps I am just a soft poet
Disguising intentions in symbolic narrative
My art will be so intangible
That any criticism would be insubstantial
But the saddest part of it all
Is that my tolerance for confrontation remains low
My fear of feather-ruffling remains high
And it takes courage and persistence to make the world a better place
I want to show you how I feel
But I don’t want you to react to it
I want to express myself without criticism
I suppose that’s not how it works
With a click, my flag vanished
All of the tears, all of the colors, all of the stitches
My life is easier now
And so is yours
Did anything come of this?
Is anyone the wiser?
Or is the air above the tunnels too crowded, relentless, and uninhabitable
For someone who cares so much about other’s feelings
But also wants to be more than vapid
We are interpreting colors and patterns in a world that has shaped us
Therein lies the beauty Therein lies the confusion
Therein lies our differences