I scream FREE AMERICA, barely legible on the wall —
and I get one word, one rat, one care,
and an angry and ignorant old-world glare,
a smile here, bewilderment there —
And it seems there is nothingness everywhere.


What compels one to erase signs of peace everywhere?
What once blared out is no longer there.
A sigh for the next lost soul that’s to come,
and a sign that will be erased, but that might
reach some.
My voice, it will echo and the image linger on,
for this image isn’t mine, for my words will not end,
for Hell is war, and this war
can’t be won.

-- Melanie Gnosa,