My heart
Is the colour of vermillion
It pumps blood
Red as the dead you have had
Butchered. Life
Is a big red
Puddle you happily jump in
To paint your soul whole
Free from the flag that drapes it.

Perhaps,
You could paint over your hatred
Sell it for parts for tin men hearts
Let it sink in the gutter
Of your imagination.

Yet the morals you have had emblazoned
Singe the lines of demarcation
Of your mind, of this nation
You have joyfully
Settled in.

And until birds, broken
Sing of freedom
And begin to heal
Your mind's abrasion
No peace or calm can live
Inside your soul's pavilion
When the flag of your heart
Burns vermillion.