The Valley of White Flags

As I walk the field I mourn,
Nothing here seems to ever soar,
Slight whispers of fear and pity,
This is a valley not a city.

The spirit that lingers here speaks softly,
Yet pleasing it is costly,
A heartbeat has always been its foe,
That is why the story is never told.

Many lay on the pavement,
White and without pigment,
Each one looking exactly the same,
Yet each one a different name.

There seems to not be any hope,
All have decided they could not cope,
This is how they chose to go,
Their flags wave as the wind blows.

It is the ending of false torture,
Due to a superficial culture,
They indulged in a fatal serenity,
Now loneliness is an eternity.

by: Daniel Rodriguez (Inspired by a photo)