the ones who said: “onward, comrades!” to our death,
with ruin on their
breath,
the weight of centuries on their tongues,
loading failed
manifestos in their guns.as if defeat, repeated often, could someday
mean we had won.
the ones who said: “onward, comrades!” to our death,
with ruin on their
breath,
the weight of centuries on their tongues,
loading failed
manifestos in their guns.as if defeat, repeated often, could someday
mean we had won.