Born into this world, to be a king and feared by all,
yet now is a trophy to be put upon a pillar
for all to see, until beckoned back at once to a cage of rust to perish one day in silence. Born in an land of culture as far as the eye can see, so beautiful they were, so sacred to nature,
before they came common in households
to be forever stepped on, like a small rat. Eyes the only remaining of its past, which is no more than a dream, yet it never fades away from the eyes for it’s like iron bars in front of them. Eyes are the pride of them became one of their weapons, so strong, and yet so breakable for all will break eventually. Silence is death for them, as their land becomes this silence. Silence can be undone for them, but time is expanding
their number is dwindling,
becoming pointless to try.
Days are meaningless.
Days of freedom are meaningless.
Days of pride are gone.
Days are now years.
Years do not change the facts.
Years, what could've been undone.
Years of failed oaths to save them.
Years of news becoming, as a blink of an eye.