We fly the myth
of our eternal happiness
with the fabric
of American flags
still standing on the moon
appearing to wave
in the steady breeze
of a near-total
absence of air.
Tagged: flags, happiness, lost love, poem, poetry, unhappiness
The Bard of Liminga
my sadness fallen/ earthward like a black griefbird/ with wings shaped of stone
Very good. I like this. Powerful words here my friend.
thank you