For a singer she sang as well as any
Her name now lost, but once she began
He felt tears and thought how rare for a young man.
The words did not allow for this to happen -
Nor thoughts of personal loss or action.
No reproach from a memory of malice foreign valor,
Nor photographs of the lifeless whose protests need not matter
And he wept soft standing at section seven seat ten,
On a clear August night thinking about how things may have been
If no one had pledged allegiance or proved what three colors meant.
As he looks upon the chalk, dirt, and grass
He wonders if the man who placed them at half mast understands
As he himself has come to right then.
What it means to stand quiet and still and to be an American.
Quote by ottoavist

i suppose there's a chance
i'm just a litte too shallow to consider
that maybe i've been a little more eager
each day to wake up and take a shower
brush my teeth and smile for the mirror
Last edited by freshtunes at Feb 5, 2012,
Well-written and a great moment-in-time piece. I really have nothing else to add besides I often catch myself feeling the same sentiment as this poem
here, My Dear, here it is