The Victory Day Morning
It is morning
You were born after after that Day of Victory, in your war the war in which they won, yours
I don’t know what you call them who died for you but they thought better of you – the unborn – than you do of them now.
I can hear them they’re not dead at all – thoughts don’t die they want to listen to you, talk to you
You call it “paying homage…”
That’s not what they wanted want
Dying for their unborn children, grandchildren for the continuation of the family they left nothing for themselves and the whole soul turned into a ray – the most important part of a human, to pierce for you a way through, there to your Future they’re dying for right now.
The soul knows more than you think because it knows about the genus, hears it
She should have taught you that she knows the at least to look at where it is now your genus. . . .
You too can hear what the Genus lives for, what These failed to destroy.
The Victory Day Morning. It’s already in the air, you hear, hear what in other days are hidden from you
I am Death and I opened a Passageway – passageway to their thoughts
They want to hear their own who then were not born yet for whom they gave their lives they want to know what you have become they want to be proud of you they want to believe that you are the ones for whose lives they gave their own .
The Passageway is open, the Victory Parade is about to begin I’ll hold it open until noon
It’s very painful to make it – a Passageway through
I will endure for you those who want that the souls of those who gave their lives, for you to live, so that they can at least for a moment rise from the Abyss of pain and see through your eyes that they did not die in vain, that they are remembered, loved at least a little, someways