Truce Or Surrender? Poem by Neil Crawford

From tearstained bone my flagpole bloomed
and yet I have no flag to fly.

No regimental colours, no darling lady's favour,
no flag of nation or factional standard do I own.

Hoist then, the dull grey sheet, a fabric, zero portrait,
pronouncing inner blank and reluctance to exist.

Whispering weak apologies and incredible apologies
I nailed my life to the flagpole and stole guiltily away.

From tearstained bone my flagpole bloomed
and yet I have no flag to fly.