Community
Fools Gold.
By Randall Stephen Hall.
First draft.
 
Once upon a time
It was Green, white and . . .
Green white and . . .
Jesus, I can't bear to say it . . .
 
Here goes . . . "Orange!"
There, I've said it . . . Orange.
It almost tastes better than I thought
When you peel away 
All that hatred.
 
And then, as if by magic
Someone changed the orange
Into "gold" as if this was accurate?
An inaccurate description
Of the obvious.
 
They could accept the colour
But not the concept.
Not the word, bitter in the mouth
Impossible to swallow.
Just like a magic trick
Conjured up though alchemy
And the dark arts, to take unity
And create division.
By selling the people Fool's Gold.
So even today there sits a secret
Amo gst us, hidden in plain sight.
That the original meaning of the Irish flag
"Peace between the Green and the Orange"
Has been utterly lost.
Taken hostage by those
With no taste for love on their tongue
For the other, the outsider or Prod.
Man, woman or child
Branded with that firey fresh colour
That they silently accept on their flag
But reject with their hearts.
 
Isn't that a drag for that flag?
Isn't that a sad pair of crows
To sit upon our shoulders?
A moulderin' auld hatred manifested
From out of the shadows of ourselves.
Our collective darkness.
 
A bitter auld ring of fools Gold
That could be a chief amongst us
Yet, in reality, an imposter
If unity is what we seek?
 
Who will be first to rectify
This situation?
And bring new meaning to this nation?
To a flag that could consciously
Brings us together
Rather than pushing us apart.
 
The green, the white and fools Gold
Has no meaning for me
And many others on this island.
Unity or division?
Which is it to be?
Real unity and a new Ireland?
Or merely a cheap imitation?
 
A northern Irish artist.