AN OMEN O' GLORY

As I, in shock, picked up or rescued  our stars and stripes off the ground, blown, hanging on by its rings from the clasps, and cable that restrained it as if being held hostage, yet held back from the wind begging its claim.

Approaching it, It lying in somber and patient repose to be lifted to It's rightful heights; indignant of the wind and the neglect of Its keepers, I stood in anger, and yet in awe being so close to majesty, momentarily frozen as I stood over it as if in disrespect, and I knew I had to pick it up immediately; awkward I felt lifting it fearing to crumple it in my hands and arms but I had to, I did not earn the right, as it hurt me to do so. Rushing to its owner as though in slow motion up the steps to deliver Its body and soul, opening the door as I wanted to scold them of that neglect. I just stared back at their astonishment.  I said," it was just lying there on the ground".  They made excuses; I just left, as if I were leaving, delivering a wounded friend in the hands of strangers.  Somehow, I felt that I had abandoned him, walking away, just walking away feeling remorse; an emptiness.  

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