ego sum vexillum

I can see. I can see America’s children fearlessly pushing against the winds of injustice and unrighteousness. I can see through thick gun smoke the blood stains of this country’s veins on the shirt of every fallen soldier. I can see, through the smog of foolish choices, a country standing tall. I can feel the swell of patriotism in a soldiers heart as he wipes a salty tear from eyes fixed on me. I can feel the cold, polished wood of a soldiers casket, and I feel every mother’s tear. I can feel the hatred every time that I am burned. I can smell the harvest grains of a farm and the sweet odor of a fresh-baked apple pie on the window-sill. I can taste the overwhelming sweetness of victory, yet never have I tasted defeat. I can taste the freshness of the July air. I can hear the sounds of war and the sounds of peace. I can hear the glorious Star-Spangled Banner and I can hear the droning chants of Communism. I can hear the ominous thundering sound of a distant waterfall, but most importantly, I can hear the assuring voice of One who offers higher-ground. Though I may have no hands, ears, feet, tounge or nose, I do have a spirit — the Spirit of America.

I am the flag.