Her Red Bleeds More (By: A)

Poor Ms. Old Faded Glory.
Rained on.
Tattered.
Verging on colorless.
So many men fought to have her.
She used to be loved.
She used to stand for a united nation under God the Father.
Her red bleeds more for all the division.
Her stars try to force themselves all too close to each other again.
It wasn't her fault.

But it kills me to see Ms. Old Faded Glory lying there.
Rotting.
While we're angrily swatting away our freedom; our rights.
"We don't need 'em."

She still flies over the mountainous land,
She flies wholeheartedly.
She can't help noticing we've gone downhill.
Every war we've fought, she has seen it.
Her red bleeds more for her dishonored ashes, charred in contempt.

Oh, that we only recognize her presence at parades,
to be distracted by the candy pelting us.

Our dear Ms. Old Faded Glory
Stands for so much.
We can't let her meaning be tattered.
Ms. Glory doesn't get much recognition,
But it is the humblest who are the greatest.