Tears dot her face
Ink stains on dry parchment
"My boy," she cries, "my boy"
As if her grief may summon him
But he is of a different race now
Where no earthly sound can be heard.
She clings to his flag, a sickening parody of his death, and so many others'
Red blood
White face
Blue limbs.
Is this nation god-blessed or god-cursed?
For a war bred through greed for black gold
Turns our morals as black as the forbidden goods we crave.
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