Stalins War This World Has No Heartbeat
In this nightmare there are no survivors; every heart
beats in vain. No last
words, no bullet proof ideas, all of our hopes have been
betrayed. Now the world
has lost its heart beat; blank stares pass to the last
cell running towards the
point of no return without a pulse to bring her back.
Screaming to convince the
night that she is not alone, but in this wind no words
will carry. An audience
crowds her from afar and beneath its dark breath she is
buried. Gripping each
moment as it passes to the next, visions of a final
sunset briefly light her
closing eyes; consuming the final flame to briefly wash
one last memory. When I
awoke this morning, the world was a withering rose, dried
by the pretense of an
ignorance undying. In the brilliance before the sunrise,
I saw a vision of the world
without a heartbeat, and my gaze would not be taken. We
must mend our ways, lest
we become the shadows of a past forgotten. I am no
survivor; I am one of them
