Victory is ambivalent

An empty cartridge

Ejected from a gun that has never

Been fired

The smoke rises and falls

The endless days bleed into one

After all this time we are still dying alone.

The hollow feeling becomes the reason for existence

In a world of shame an angel on a lost flight

Wings of light over a field soaked by

One hundred broken hearts

I can barley see through the confusion

Wind hurling these troubles into furious clouds

Wrapping up my every breath

Angst arises a kind of hope that engulfs me,

like the thought of home and how far I've run from it.

Will I ever feel safe like that again?