Despair.

To the south: the boots of fascism stamping bloody parades over the bodies of those who just wanted to live, love, and be.

Further south: the roar of those who would teach freely vies with the chatter of guns that would silence them to see which is louder.

To the east, north: those not sound of body nor mind are regulated to death while xenophobia chants propaganda.

To the east, south: bombs fall in carpets, run into crowds, explode from a curb, all for a war that ends not with exaltation, but with Ozymandias.

I am watching the world murder itself, and I know there is no future I want from it.

Tear.

A border set, immovable — or is it? For now, perhaps; for always, doubtful. Regardless, the damage is done, and no challenge will be given.

Truth was not silent. Truth was spoken. Of hurt, some; of disappointment, more.

Pebble by pebble, the foundation crumbles. Will what rests atop it fall? Only time knows.