The dry, hot air crushes down on life. Overpowered by the heat of the sun and the smell of death that rises from the bloodstained sand.

Static lives in motion walk the land, hand in hand with nothingness, and the dark human spirit that breeds greed.

Unobtrusive steps left behind, consumed under the surface by the blood that nourishes the land.

The tongue enclosed in a sheath, a phantom yataghan.  Delusions of freedom, a holstered heart struggles to bleed.

Silent screams that boil in the gut of the soul but stolen by fear, inhaled by the vacuum of oppression.

Necessity of expression was overtaken by the need to survive. Unity ties are broken, tears evaporated feeding the gray clouds above.

Unnerved, demoralizing soul suppressed by the one who leads many down the narrow path to emptiness.

Another voice goes unheard.