Patriotism

The parents,
Rich kids,
Their roots,
So deep,
Fostered a fervor,
A pride
Etched
In their DNA's
Blueprint.
More patriotic,
They appeared,
As if patriotism
Could be measured,
Tallied,
Weighted on a scale.

Yet their wealth,
That treasure,
A veil of privilege,
A fragility unvoiced,
Intertwined
With their fervor,
Like ivy
On an extravagant
Mansion,
Their legacy,
Tethered
To the lands they owned,
The status
They paraded.

For them,
The stakes were different,
Imbued
With a particular hue,
A hue of uncertainty,
Of unease,
Of the unspoken
Whispers
In mahogany-clad rooms,
Conversations held
With their peers,
Inside their minds,
Weighted with a burden
Only money
Could bring.

Should the country falter,
The echoes of downfall
Would reverberate
With heightened clarity,
Clinging to their wealth's
Foundations.
They might survive,
Yet fragments
Of their opulence,
Cracks
In their porcelain facade,
Would mirror
A nation's demise.

So they flutter
Their flags,
Sway the stars
And stripes,
Trying to anchor
The allegiances
And loyalties
Of their brethren,
Fanning the flames
Of an imagined unity,
As if their wealth,
Entitles them
To secure
Their perceived
Fortune.

The parents,
Rich kids,
Their patriotism
Might seize,
Perched atop
Their ivory towers,
As the country
Oscillates,
Between prosperity
And chaos,
A precipice
Where privilege teeters,
Where their legacy hangs
In the balance,
Dangling
Like a golden pendulum.

But in this fragmented
Society,
Where aspirations
Lay shattered,
Patriotism
Becomes a fragile thread,
Caught between
The cracks,
A mere illusion,
Yet strikingly real.
Because
When the wealth
Masks the soul,
The true allegiance lies
Somewhere between loyalty
And self-preservation,
As the parents,
Rich kids,
Cling
To the broken dream
Of an intact nation.