I wont accept your rules, and I don’t recognize your authority.

These roots run too deep for salutes and pressured conformity.

My wings are ancient and carry me far above all that noise –

out of reach for rules, and controls, and tin soldier boys.

I won’t bow to your flags or dance to your drums.

I flow with the sea, moved by earth’s rumbles and hums.

Some wilderness mere men will never be able to tame,

no matter how many papers you sign, or white collars obey.

I’m riding the wind and watching down from the skies,

as your propaganda falls flat, machine stutters, then dies.

©️2025 Cristen Writes