That Old Ensign

I see the flag,
That old ensign,
But I do not serve it,
A flag is mere fabric,
A textile icon of the past,

Preach not to me,
Of patriotism and servitude,
Of loyalty and treason,
Of fealty and monarchs,
I shall not heed you,

I am not my birthplace,
I am not your history,
I am not your hate,
Your bigotry or your intolerance,
I am not the empire,

I’m a human,
Not a nation,
I’m not here to entertain you,
Not going to fight for you,
I march to only one drum and flag,

That of the human heart,
That of humanity.

England

Three lions weep,
An English rose wilts,
Saint George hangs his head low,

Have we lost our way?
A lethargic populace and uncaring elite,
A blight of bigotry,

England is drunk upon past glories,
Like wines taken from distant lands,
At sabre point,

Empire is dead,
We are the ashes,
Soon to be scattered,

Our brothers of the Hills,
The Lochs,
The Isles,
And across the sea,
All creeds and ways of life,
All forsaken,

We are part of this world,
We do not hold thrones above it,
Humanity is our real flag,
Hubris has painted a sorry picture,
Something akin to a red cross.

Highland Freedom

A choice,
A risk,
Like the heroic charge of the Scots Greys,
The kind of high risk gamble,
That Scotland has both thrived upon and suffered from.

Unity is stability,
But independence is in the Scottish soul,
To rule over the lochs and fens again,
To live once more as Gaels,
To stand tall like Ben Nevis.

United or independent,
Westminster or Salmond,
Neighbours or partners,
Long live the highlands,
Long live the Scottish.

In my defence God me defend…