by M. Joseph Boehler

no wisdom, no solace—only the vibrations of hatred.

the world trembles beneath a race that has lost its truth.

humanity spills its own blood; madness hangs in hearts like phantom mist,

and arrogance lifts a rusted blade, its edge sighs ruin.

greed drives that blade through wars that etch jagged scars across the ages.

each command, each conquest, lingers like a ghost in hollow throats.

the innocent tumble like wilted leaves, and truth is the first to fade.