Part of the Unspoken

There are times like these
when isolation
seems reasonable;
to lose all materials is the price to pay
to cling to your humanity.
And here we are, clinging
with no hope for a future
trying with all we can give
to find promise
in the despair
in the wreckage
in the rubble
of which is the remnants of our sanity.

All they ever wanted
was to become beautiful
but what they left instead
was a trail
of blood
of desolation and massacre
of demonized ways
left for others to repair.

I no longer weep for their choice.
I can only lay down and ask,


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