White Silence


A constant

wind rips apart
white, and blue –
our private
property of
broken promises to end
as – tragedy – on foreign
land; reasons have no mind or
give strength to want to die.

It’s not  for us we battle and
prepare for death for
what is buried beneath
this land where we
talk, walk, and try
to live; so rich beneath
its’ soil –
strips daylight,
snapping at
white silence.
Now life will change

as a canvas of
transparent souls;
now, we must end
white silence.

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Angie's Diary