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What did you think, Peter,
in those sixty minutes
between one fit of desperation and another?
How closely you came
to the absolute truth,
how much did you understand
how far human foolishness can go?
Sometimes the silence could turn into a cry.
The desperate cry of a person
who is horribly dying.
Full of your naivety
(Only eighteen years old!)
you realized what Man is made of,
and the Ideology, made by himself,
is a monster able to devour you
if you’re in its path.
Devoured…
And you,
pure people seeing that atrocity,
how powerless you felt
in front of a monster
made by yourselves?
How loud you shouted
“Murderers”,
a scream not coming from the throat,
but from the blood,
so devastating
was the truth
you understood
in that moment.
Sometimes the silence could turn into a cry.
The desperate crying of a person
who is horribly dying.
Full of your naivety
you realized what Man is made of,
and the Ideology, made by himself,
is a monster.
Is there a limit
to the pain I’ll have to see?
Faded pictures
constantly spreading in the mind,
and a nasty taste in the mouth.
How many lives in history
have been sacrificed
to the ideologies of Silence?
While the life
was gushing out of you
flowing down a cold wall
and finally mingling
with the dust and the mud,
your dreams
were falling down like
the bright stars
of an august night,
and they were dying on
a barren and bleak
strip of earth.
You see, Peter,
i can’t imagine just how you felt in that moment,
but one thing brings us together:
I often scream out
in the silence too.
And I have the fear that
nobody will hear me.
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