Death of a Nation (Pankhearst)

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Death of a Nation

The Cardinal’s song is so different now.

The red frayed feathers and the twisted beak beckon out a melody that drones. It watches me. Reminds me of love and warns with it’s new staccato voice of evils that come. The nightmares that no longer need the night’s darkness. A simple slight head-tilt. A screech and a scurry. I raise the rifle and aim. The zombie drops, irradiated and glowing as that tiny red bird lands. The boom and the bombs that dropped that made all the birds scatter, left scars on the walls of palaces we erected in our search for God. Or our search, to be God. Our hands are not creators. I hold this rifle. Fondle the smooth metal of the barrel and wonder if in its creation did anyone ponder our demise.

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