Russian
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Doors crept open to the robotic hum,
of cold Siberian wind,
The same wind that carried the ash and soot,
of burning towers pointed at the ground, and thundering pride
Of a bygone era that never knew its day,
Two parts of me
Clash at each other
Fighting to be the very best
To win over the other
The race to space
Or battle of government
From the White House to the Red Square
Uncle Sam versus Mother Russia
The crisp scent of forthcoming winter churns out suicide notes for the illiterate
A slew of chirruping crickets leap into the mire,
Their light corpses ripple 'Xs' in the water
