Little words.

Oh but for the lives and worlds forsaken and sacrificed all for the promise that tomorrow delivers more.

With a price always so great, and an outcome which could never be bettered, a folk would be asked to thrust their own blood and homes upon the flames of distorted value.

They owe what they are to blood and land, to war and victorious love of their own. They owe their very being to the embracing of their brethren and keeping at bay indifferently, those of other folk.

It is not hate which held them as one, but love of what they were given and asked to keep safe and better for the next day.

Oh but how greed and swindlers come, with tongues as silver forks. You could almost hear them promise bars of gold enough to build a home with, if only they understood the meaning of home.

“Tomorrow will be better” they mutter as they were told. Unsure of whether they believe it, but terrified they would be singled out.

For then it would be they who are the reason such wealth has yet come. The folk and blood forsaken, only promises remain.

Advertisement