A Certain Rage.

please to remember

I’m trying to write about my country, or what remains of it.

For what it once stood.

Or maybe I’m trying to write about the world.

And for what it once stood.

But maybe neither ever did.

Just a few people.

With ideas that shone in the darkness that surrounds us all.

Some listened.

Enough to force a change.

Their voices are silent now.

There is only the empty sound of an absent wind that no-longer blows along the deserted corridors where nobody walks.

Weeds grow through the cracks.

And this silence is deafening.

And the cracks are louder.

I feel sad.

I feel like screaming.

But no one is listening.

Rage.

We were here once before.

probably something