Dandelions in spring come no more; instead, they swing along gold streams, banishing crying hearts. Wars are caged, acting as though they never existed at all. I tried to peek at the light but wasn't worthy, because all the empathy and kindness the light engulfed punctured the sinner's lung.


The anguish fall, the depressed fall;
the warriors breathe in love that war
couldn't bear to know.
No tear in sight, only hands to hand—
in another life, I wished it to be a place.
Now, I'm a...