the Sword and the Pen

but death from above
is still a death

How many times you can count a train as it passes in the night, how many times you can see color on white walls from emergency vehicles and roving helicopters. I begin to ask the question what does it all mean but the answers that appear in the periphery scare me too much and I put the lid back on the boiling pot, we are ready to explode. You'll need the answers soon enough; what will you otherwise tell your children? Every conversation funnels to despair, ever quiet moment, we lie in separate beds and stare at the same cloudy sky, don't you know that all we have left is our humanity, is holding on to each other, when the revolution comes who do you take with you? That's what we've gotten to now.

When the city is burning,
what remains of you?