The ghostly breath on cool panes of
window
Hush is the sound of nothing more or
less
If death were to turn anew and billow
The sky were grayed while Earth struck
with illness
Then broke heroes fixed antagonists
Our loved children would grow to be
fearsome
Perhaps even the lowliest artists
Would kneel to catch sight of what
we’ve become
The brink of ends, lower than we’d
admit
It’s washing the brain, stunting
difference
Compliance is final, burden’s twin
Losses sink fast, they are the
evidence
Of a generation bent to fall in
Too late is now, what of words we had
omit