I see a plague, gripped with fear, more primitive than we know. Young foals struggle to stand on malnourished bones, they speak in vulgar displays of animalistic avarice. Dear mothers, dear fathers, bear your crosses oblivious to the weight. If only we could age in harmony, over disintegration, free from foul intention. And I could free my head from enmity. This ephemeral life will rust, the seas will rise, and your absence returns beauty to life. Your absence, the amends.