Blood ties cannot be broken

They can be stretched

Across distances traversing

The line of time

The past and present become intertwined

We are the fragments of our ancestors

Possessors of futures undefined

Brought to life in three trimesters

We remain shattered pieces

Spread across a dirt nostalgically yearned

Rivers of crimson mud

Hope is fleeting

Seemingly bleeding

Humanity’s violent storms

Create a world weathered by wars

Create a world of orphans and corpses

Battles can never be won if the prize is covered in blood

The victors stand upon an earth barren and burned

Victory dies when peace ceases

Their destiny is supposed to be ours

But can we turn from it

— a redesign —

Can we be too aware of our own observations

To be persuaded by historical expectations?

A new lost generation

— lost within itself —

A legacy yet etched

On mountains yet climbed

Upon which will you question

Your role in the line of succession