The Flag Still Flies

by MissT

There’s a certain pride stitched into the Union Jack
the threads of history, courage, and loss.
It’s the flag that flew above the cliffs,
that draped the coffins of those who gave everything,
that waved in victory, and stood firm in grief.

For some, it’s just a pattern of colours.
For us, it’s bloodlines, battles, and belonging.
The red for sacrifice, the white for hope,
the blue for the seas our ancestors crossed
to defend the island they called home.

But somewhere along the way,
the flag became a target instead of a symbol.
Foreign voices sneer,
calling it arrogance, calling it hate
forgetting that it once stood for unity,
for courage in the face of darkness.

We are not perfect.
No country is.
But when we raise our flags
the Union Jack, the St George’s Cross,
the Red Dragon of Wales, the Saltire of Scotland
we raise them for the builders, the dreamers,
the ones who worked, fought, and fell
so we could stand free.

So let them mock if they must.
The flag still flies.
Not for politics, not for power
but for pride.
For the quiet strength of a small island
that never stopped standing tall.