To Kill a Messenger

The flag I had to wave is
just a fabric;
colours and stripes,
stars and patriotism despite
a face not
unlike
your own.

This rag I’ve had to fold is
just an abstract for
arbitrary lines on
which we’ve built our
divide;

and given
named spies are
about as
altruistic as predators-
assassins are dispatched

to silence
unguarded
messengers,

so that all
the letters my
better half sent
me
have been
lost to
time.

This coat of arms I’ve come to
consider carte blanche
does so little to
staunch my
pride
saluting the construct
as everything around
us self
destructs at half-mast.

I wait ’til
midnight to
look at the math of it

with
mannequin raids

so that
come sunrise
I can only
replay little
wars of
mine
as the
body counts rise.

The flag I have
to assert on the endless
worlds of hurt empires leave is
just a fabric that
separates you and
yours from me.

My face not unlike theirs,
children only stone
throws from comparison,
but insignias
conquer

and that
makes me your
monster.

They built it kind of
hard to
love
between the
lines.

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3 thoughts on “To Kill a Messenger

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