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I looked at the sky above Berlin it stank of death,
disguised as zeppelins under the moonlight.
I watched the city smell of death, under the ax of the inevitable black shadow.
I could smell death:
it is pungent it makes no noise.
He walks in front of you like a mirror, reflects the life of others slowly fading.
They asked me what the war was like.
I replied « Like death, sometimes inevitable» but there is nothing honorable about dying in an avoidable war; as the sky above Berlin darkened, under the silent murmur begging for mercy.
They asked how it was possible, i replied «He is philosophy, made thought», but I could only smell the smell of death, covering the sky above Berlin.
“What have your eyes seen?” They asked me.
“A war that I don’t even wish for my worst enemy,” I replied, losing the smile I no longer had.
“We tried to avoid it … but there was no choice, we wanted an agreement, but it wasn’t possible, we found ourselves in front of a wall, the more we knocked, the worse it was … the situation worsened …there I remain only one thing, or us, or them …but they didn’t want to hear, nor understand, were the screams that mortified us, the words that humiliated us, our cries were the faults,
but it was their closed eyes that stained their hands with blood …it was the fault …an infamy hidden under the guise of justice.
The voices murmured again, I hear them, they grow incessantly, they remind me so much of the sky above Berlin.