Temperate winds can't hide 

the smell of smoke and burning 

flesh from overseas 

On the verge of a 

breakthrough or breakdown we weave 

through dark passages 

Fresh bright snow sullied 

with road grime, splashed by passing

cars like scars on youth 

 A crow sits at the

tree's crown under a blazing 

blue sky judging all 

Everything's broken 

by design yet the spirit

resists their scheming 

Rusty swords rattled 

until they snap leaving just 

empty vain gestures 

Broken bell towers

fail to call the faithful to

defend city walls