Now is the winter of our discontent
Or so a great bard once said.
Cold winds blow
Trees down
Upon the houses
Of this doomed street,
Isolated in a city
That believes itself to be great.
Darkness engulfs the citizens.
Warmth gives way to cold.
Light becomes a sacred gift
Too precious to be squandered.
We will survive.
Light will return.
They wish us to suffer
In silent.
But we haven't forgotten
The debt that they still owe us.
Someday we'll collect
And then they'll all be sorry.
No comments:
Post a Comment