There is something to be said
for every dream in every head,
but my advice is to be shy
of every flag that passes by.
For every flag I've ever seen
was once a fragment of a dream,
torn from the sky by iron fists,
nailed naked to a piece of stick.
Why rush to join the brief parade?
That banner bright is sure to fade,
for -captive- dreams betray our trust
as ranks of iron run to rust.
There is something to be said:
Those who dream are never dead.
But those who give their dreams away
find iron by night
- dust by day.
Originally published in Liberty, 1991.
© 2010 W. Luther Jett. All rights reserved.