nothing is clear.
the fog
of war
is thick, the dead line
the streets with more to come.
revenge
being bittersweet,
the blood
will run
until it's cold
and then
a strange peace
will settle in.
all of it temporary
until the next
generation
grows
and picks up their
weapons.
nothing changes,
as
survivors, press on
in a land
of rubble,
with bread
and water with years
left to weep.
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