Torn and Tattered

“Torn and Tattered”

I was stitched in fire, born of flame,

In a land that dared to stake its name.

Thirteen stars and stripes of red,

For every soul that fought and bled.

I flew at dawn on Bunker Hill,

Through smoke and blood, I’m flying still.

Torn and tattered, yet I wave,

O’er the cradle of the bold and brave.

I am torn and tattered, weather-worn,

From every storm this land has borne.

But I still rise in morning’s light,

A symbol forged by freedom’s fight.

From cannon's roar to silent prayer,

I’ve been the thread that’s always there.

Though scarred by time and battle cry,

I wave for every soul that died.

I watched a nation split in two,

When brothers fought in gray and blue.

I wept through Gettysburg’s red rain,

Then flew above that field of pain.

I rose again on foreign sands,

In Flanders, France, and desert lands.

Held high by hands both black and white,

Who dreamed of truth and died for right.

I am torn and tattered, battle-bound,

But never once have I backed down.

From marching drums to mothers’ tears,

I’ve waved through centuries of fears.

Through dust of towers turned to ash,

Through fire and steel, through hope and crash.

Still I stand through every trial,

For every freedom, every mile.

I’ve been burned and dragged and stitched anew,

Folded for the proud and true.

Saluted by the young and old,

Wrapped around the brave and bold.

I’ve flown above a soldier’s grave,

And in the hands of those enslaved.

But still I rise on every hill—

The dream, the fight, the people’s will.

I am torn and tattered, tried and true,

But I belong to all of you.

Each stripe a scar, each star a light,

A beacon through the darkest night.

From Revolution’s fiery spark

To moonlit steps in oceans dark—

I am the banner, born to last…

A testament to freedom’s past.

So let me wave where hearts still beat,

On small-town lawns and city streets.

Though winds may whip and time may fray—

I am the flag... and I will stay.