dove of peace
Are you afraid? Yes! Armed emissaries of the murdered mercy have won. No, you will not fly away having your wings torn. They will turn you into a golden image, and the tears that are being shed will be forgotten. Peace will not come, the sound of rams’ horns is the voice of the lord, and purple likes spilled red: of women, men, the aged. Children, too, are guilty!
The world of brightness has been walled up. A sea of ash is extinguishing solitary sparks. A wall of lead will surround your body. It will flood over your torn wings, eyes… Are you afraid? Yes!
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