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The shreds of skin, hanging by the threads from backs where scars embodied the path to the journey from seas of conspiracy that flood the currents of bolded colonies settled by the flames of love that keep the pole in place for wind to thwart.

The flag of adherence to the ceremony of betrayal at fireplaces that grazed the traces of humanity through the spaces of primal invitations hat hold the spice of betterment that was stolen when flags removed colors to give the Union Jack the cross of willpower.

The flag of saints that patronize the rules of conduct with ecclesiastic glee under the duress of holy lines of woe as rooms with witnesses in silence — captivate the activities of disrobed leaders.

The flag of our fathers are wrapped in the symbol of triumphs that were stemmed from the concrete of souls that bled out under the rays of brutality that gave the material permission to floss in the wind as Whites became white and Black became the soil of malnourishment.

The flag of our fathers are wrapped in the symbol of triumphs that stemmed from concrete souls that bled out for the sake of warriors who won’t let the wind wilt the need to be American — even when Blackness almost blots the seeds of patriotism.

Your flag — not theirs.

Written by

Juggling Wordsmith. I have a lot to say! https://medium.com/membership https://www.patreon.com/Ezziegirl

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