American Satisfactory Press

American flags artificially stamped with productive factory precision.
The echoes of freedom squelched by its satisfactory contraction.

It hums and it grinds and it presses and it whines.
It complains that it cannot keep up with the times.

Constantly it resonates a message of what once was,
and lies about what it's to be.
Its a cruel world we live in, we are no longer free.

We can only sit and stare through the unbearable glare that is the light of the truthful and honest sun.
We realize that with the experiment comes sacrifice,
The flaws of its doing and undoing evident in the cloudy and grueling aftermath of the once loaded gun.

But it is loaded again. Precise and true, it can be counted on to support the sloppy, the crude and the depraved. It will give you the power to take another to the grave and silently regret it, for the rest of whats left.

The American pressed flag waves violently through the storm, wrinkled and ripping. For each rip there is an ironic truth, the purpose behind the resonance of its message fades with every tear like its red and blue.

Eventually the colors will vanish into the uncertain air, a gray flag of surrender will appear as if from nowhere, as the American satisfactory pressed message ceases to care, its squelched by the echoes of productive precision, it looks back with a blind eye to the decisions that could have spelled out a clean and pure vision, it is now everyone's burden to bear.

(Sorry for the edits! Just felt like it. It wasn't really supposed to go anywhere specific. Eh?)