Through the cracks in the asphalt, new grass rises—
this city has been silent for too long, disquiet has
settled in its bones. The scab of history was scratched
open by asymmetric tears but how can it be war when
one side always wins? When the falsehood of few
becomes the truth of many? The skill of perception, the
eye peering through the prism doesn’t see the other
looking back at it. A battle with no front line, no
rhythm, no rules — in human versus human, faith
cannot be the arbiter. Consider the evidence, death
needs a path to be meaningful, so it can become
the end. Life needs pain to know that it is still alive.
And yet this city is numb, an uncertain mist shrouds
every exit. Here, now, why are the odds still skewed?