Poetry

The trauma gives me a
severe jolt.
The paper nest of
wasps remains unbroken.

There was an ethereal
feel. One outwardly thought.
We should be ready for
a final war.

Between words and deeds
the religion was expanding.
River of blood was becoming
thick. Can you walk on the
frozen bodies?

The title of the substory
changes. Every executioner
had a deep hurt inside.