FicWad

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