Within my bare limitations,
I rest weak, alone, and helpless.

At the genesis of my objectives
lies a motive for global consensus.

For, I hold no substantial power
but that of the hands I was granted,
by which I stroke this paint on paper
to color words of my intentions.

And yet –

In these Russian flagscapes,
I find some familiar hues.

White skies across terrains
weep tears of colors blue.

Land and mountains bleed red,
much like their people’s virtues do.

Lest not neglect those humans
of the land which fall from grace.

In Russia live kind peoples
who Stand With Ukraine, too.

–

But – is it pleasing to the eye?
In this sense, there is great dissent.

To what end must a nation’s colors
grasp essence from countless lives?

And yet it does, with little purpose…
aside from that of pain and pride.