malneirophrenia

bloodstained fingertips trace words in the dust upon the glass of these broken castle walls that once loomed so high above our heads but now they’re nothing but rubble bits and bricks among the ashes where even the plants refuse to grow

the chains holding us rust and creak with every breath until there’s nothing left but dust trickling down around us caught in the fibers of time woven into our beings and pulsing with every throb of our shattered hearts

a single word high above the rest traced in the dust and seared into our minds

‘war’ it proclaims ‘war’ while we’re crying out for peace our voices caught in the darkness until they too fade away like the ghosts of those who came before us

we cannot shake the icy fingers of the past that tremble down our backs with crusty fingernails and clutch us in their grip waiting for a moment of surrender to strike

but we cannot surrender we cannot give in we cannot stay silent we must fight against the chokehold we must fight against the lies we must fight against the wrongs

‘war’

our fingertips still bloodied we wipe this word from these fallen ruins and carve a new word a new mantra a new legacy

‘peace’