deepundergroundpoetry.com
dear mother
no one wishes to speak, no one wishes to see,
but dying, dying, our world she withers.
ǵ̵̠͖͕̺̊̂r̟̺̫̃̓ͥ̍͊ͩ̆͟e͖̘̲̚ȩ̫̲̦̈́ͣ͒d̄̓ͯ̉̍̃͏͓̗,̡̼̼̲̰̤̃͒̿͛̅̈ ̠̱̜̻̲͍́̐̍ͤͫ̆g̣͔̟̎̄ͨ̑r̸̐e͓̿͗ȇ̢̫͕̺̝͈̳ͮ͂̌̆̓ď̹̱̼͓̪̯̽,̭̠͎͍͎͎̺ͥ͑̍̅ͦ̿̚ ͙̤̇͗̒̍ͫ̐̈g͂ͫ̿͂̍r̩͖͖̫̲͕͐ͮ͟eͯ̆̈́̂̆̂̚͜ȇ̜̻̯̣̼̰ḍ͚͆ͅ,͈̜͍̿͛̈͌͂̈ ̮͕̣̘̙̟͂ͅġ̡͚͗͌̓r̮͈̖̣̹͍ͩ̓̐̑͟e͚͍͉͚̘̹̠͐̓ͯ̔ͩ̚ẽ̥̟̎̚n̯̭͓̱̈̾̇͗ͥ͒͋.̤̙͔̯̕ ̡ͧ͛̊m̼͉̺̠̂̈́o͔̎̒́͐ͪ̓r̪̫͖̱͛ȩ͉̟̼͈̯͙ͥ̓ͬͭͨ̿ͅ ̶̺͕͙̥̣̠͇ͫͮͥṁ͓͎̜̆͑̅͌̚͘o͙ͨ͋͛ͭ͊n̻̖̤̥̳̥̾̇͆e̴̪y̭̖ͬ͐̔̆,̘͔́ͨͪ̔ͣ ̮̚s̯̫͊h̳͎̖̯̯ͬͨͭ̀ͅó̈v͖̭̣̭ͭͨͩ͢e̖͑̈́̉͝d҉͎̬ do̲w͏̲̯̖n̳̺̹͔,̙̦̞ ̫̪̟d͓̫͇̭̘́o̸͍̘͇̞̩ͅw͏̟͈̭̝̹n̩͇͉̟,̧͚̮͍̖ ̭̘͠d̜̗̲̺͠o͙̭̮̪̙̱w͕̻̘̭̯ͅn̺̮̬̘͉̤ ͐ỷ̪̬̰̻o͕͌ͤ̍̾̐ͦ̔u͓̒ͯŕ̢̲̥͎̲̣̓͋̓ͧ̅ ̮̲͕̣ͪ̅͑ͩͅt͇̰̝ͯh̘͖͓̞̥͐͝ͅr̜̰͉̬͕ͦ̇̏͐̇͒̓͟ȏ̭̥̪̎̑ą̲̮͒ͬ̇ͤ̅͂t͇̼̔͑ͥͅ
we are her and she is us. yet we take of her and she takes so little from us.
m̯̪ͨͥó̶̪̮̺̓̓͂̚ͅt̶̺̝͔̯͆̚ĥ̷̬̰̘͚̦̥͍e͑̎ͮ̈r̗̳̝͕͙̔͗ͥ̆ͮ,̓̈́̿̊ ̱̙͖̠̙̣ṁ̲̪̟̲͈̗ͧͮ͜o͓̝̙̱̙͓͉͑t̜̄ͩͥͫͫͩͪ̀h̘e̞͍͒ͤ̎́r͍̪̜̅.̪̝̫̹̙̯̯͠ ̉̒͗ͪ͋͟ì̷̤͕̘ͪͣ͛̅̈ ̫̦̙͓̯̫͢a̯̲̟̤̪̩ͬ̽̆̋͆̿̚m̛̘̟̩̽͐̇̓͒ͬͨ ͣͤ̏̋͌̄̚͏͓͈̰̹̠s̵͙̪͙ͭ̽̽ͨ͛o̰̳͚̅̈́ͬ̕ ̗͖͙̕s̢͊͛̎̃̓͐o͚̺͉̬ͤr̵͑̈̔̂ͩr̲͕ͦ͛ͦͨͣ̎̈́y͙̭̺̩̘͓ͨ,̝̮̜̯͉̣̤ͣ ͈̭̏̒̈͗y̰̤͙͎͎͗̎̆̋ͩ͟o̗̘͐̇̕ͅű̖͍r̜͖̟ ̪̗̦̼̹̮̬c̴̰̠̺̒́̋̃̋h̢͔̤͓̋̆͐͐̍ͣi̥͈̟͎̲̿͗ͬl͍̤̞̭͇̻̮̄͐̊ͭ̄̕d͎̦͍̥̣̫ͥ͟r̯͙͎͙̠ͪ̋̀̄̊̎e͕̳͍͔ͮ͊n͔͍͉̉̌ͣ̋ ̫ͯͬ̊͆̓̇̀͝k̦̰̹ͩ̐̂̃̑ń̟̰̒o̢̞͇̜̅̍̐̃̾̂̑w̴ͯ̃ͩ ͓̦̻̓̑̄͋͊̄͘e͚̪͍̪̤̗ͦ͒̈́x͓ͮ̔̽ͭ́̉̈̀a̵̩čͬ̐ͫͩt̝̮̞͝l̻͇̭̟̟ͣý̸͉̭͇̱ͮ̋̒͐ͤ͒ ͇ͯ͐̎ͅw̲̺͚ͭ̒ͣ̋͊̍̚h̨̯͎̳̼ͨaͨ̓ͣ͂t̲̹͚ͬ́̇̀̆ͤ ̭̥̌t͓͙̯̼̃̉̉ͪ̚͞h͕̟͔̣̓ͥ͒ͩeͨ̒ͪͭ͛̆҉̦͈̥̬ẙ̉ͥ̑ͥ̅́ ̪̲ͭͯ̃̒ͪ͆d̻̮ͥ͑ͬ̆̏o̷͕̗̰̭̪̽.̃ͤ̓̅̋ͪ
every death, gasping, welling - there's blood pooled within the eyes of your most gentle. we watch them perish for our own gain.
bees, so gentle, ever working to spread lush foliage; dying, money MONEY MORE MONEY.
we will die choking on the fumes of our endless greed and yet is there hope mother? placate me.. mother? your voice is so faint.
y̜̟̳̳̩̆͛̀o͓̰̓ͫ̂ͯ̔̚̚u͙̩̐͌ͭr̻ ̛̬̻͑̎̓p̓ͭ̚à̂̒͋̇̓ì̬̪̥̚n̩̘̩͙͉̜͓̍̅ ̤̰̄̐̾̌͢î̢̓ͮ̋ͦs͈̾ ̤̭͈̰ͭͩͯ̍̓̕m̦̝̪͎̘̺͢ĭ̲̱̞̖ͬͫͮ̂ͮn̆e̥̩͇̫͐͒̄ͭ̃̍̒,͋̆ ̫̗̤͍͕̊ͣ̚ͅĩ̸̫̬̤͕̲ͅ ̲͔́ͨ͂̓f́ě̼͙͚͖̳̦ͭ̂̚ë̩͙͓̱̋̿̍̉̄ͫ͞ľ͈̘̹̩̣̖̿ͯ̈́͑̃ ͉͉̇̉ͫͥ̆ͭ̃e͍̮̪͈͕͓ͪ͑v̬ͮ̎ͨ͗͟e̷̱̼͙̣̔̉͂̍ͪr̨͇͓̗͍̃͑͌̆y̳̻͈̏ ͈̓d̶͕͎͛ͦͤ̔ͤ͗̓e͇͔̤̝̥̹͜a̷̬͈̬ͤ͂ͪ͆̽t̻̺͖͔̩̺̰͌ͩ̈́h̠̘̥̤̱̿̎̄ͦ̃̓̉ ̷̖ͪḁ̱̔̆͐͒͛̎s̳͓͍̩̿̽͂͛̈ͨ́̚ ̰̱͇̝͔́ͅi̵̲̳͈̼͔͇͐f̢͈̝͚͎̯̤͕ ̳i̼͚̩̺͍͍͈͂ͥ̅̎͒̇͆͘t̡͎̩͍̫̺̪̖̉ͩ͐ͮ ͕̙͈̳̥̳̺͞w̠̫̣̠͓ͮe̯̊͗r͑ͦ̏́ͭ͏̥e͔͇̗̮͋ ͍̜̭̐̆̕m̰̞ͬ̾y̴̅̂ͦ̌ ̗̖̅o̰̾ͣͮͅw͚̜̭͓̤͙̰̎̍̾̃ͮ̚n̻͍̔̄̾̌ͅ
plastic chokes your oceans of tears, chemicals riddle the bones of your tiniest, most precious. we are the disease, the cancerous - THEY KNOW, do not think they are innocent children mother, they know exactly what they do.
c͙͙̱̦͔ͨ͝o͋̐ͥͥ̇ǹt͎̹̗̖͕͐̔ͪ͊̓̚ȑ͈̳̩̀̅͌̉͆̈́o̱͍ͭ̂̇ͣl̎ͮ͋̌ ̡̰̜̭̪̞̱̎ͧ̀͌m͙͇̎ͥ̃͆o̯̮̅͑̎̽ͪͭ̂͠ͅt̴͈̺͙̞̋̄̊h̢͈̩̺e͙̣͢ͅr̢̪̬̒̄̉̽̑ͬͥ,ͣ̀̐́ ̼̮͖͑ͨï̙̘̉ͣ̍̓t̷̗̬̞͓̱̮͎͂ ̝̪̫̲̘̘̘̐ͥ͜i̍̅ͦͦͬ̕s̸̓̄ͯ ͝a̱̞͈̝̹̣̪͐ͤͣͯl̤̻͓̙͔̝͓̋ͤͯ̓l͚̳̣̑̈́ͪͫ̾ ̨̞̼͚̑t͑͏̙̰͎̜̰͍̟h̔̿̿ͥ̾̒͋e͙̝̘̪͆̽ͨy͍͕̲̫͔̟͆́̿̇ͪ ͫ͡w̩̺̝̣̭ͯͧ͞ͅȉ̦̱ͣͫ̎̇̊s̔́͗h̨̼͍̲͈͇̥͒ͪ͐̅̃͒̀.̸͎̮̮͍͉̩͋̓̀̏ ̗͐s̫̺͓͖͙͕̻ͣ́ḥ͆̔̋ͬȇ̥̤̟̟̟̫͂̅̉ͅė̔͋ͥ͑̋p͙̮̜̬̰ͤͣ͂ͦ͑͡ ̇͆͗̈́͘b̗̦̮̚l̷͓̺̲ͮe̞͔̭̍̋̈ḁť̡̞̈́̊̋i̡̻͚͔͖̘̙̻n͔̬̩͔̣͙̹̍͗̍͐̂͋g̺̟̘̓̊̊ ̵̤̂͗̔p̫̜̫̊͊̽͗ͥ͑̇ͅi̺͔͓͖̗̖͔͌̉̒̃̃̏̒t̮̞̦̗͓͘i̩̞͕̹̩ͯͭ̓̅ͧ̆f̡͉̰̓u̹̹͚̠̐̉̊͂̒l̮͙̼͎̯͡ͅl̬̏̾͑̄͘y̴̭̠͕̠̗ͤͫ̍̍̚̚ ̼̤̞͈̱̫̒̌̇̄a̩̦͊̋͋̀w̷̰̌a͌̂́i̢̹ẗ͕̰̙̲̜̎ͬͬ̽̒ͯi̷̻ṋ͆ͯ̉ͭ̐̾g̘͕̯ ̝̹̼͕̳̺̽̾̎ͬs̰͒̊͑l̼̠̠̮̣͌a̖̍̐͐͌ͪu̫̮͕͈͈̼̻g̎̋̋͆̾ĥ̷̲̱̬̲͇̫ͯ̉̋̆ͨͩt̰̞̻̭̰̤̄̽̔͋̎e̠͚̰͉̟̪͉ͣ̊̋ͧ̈́͋ȓ͉̭̼͇̖͑̚
i cry mother but i am but a tiny speck on your dying earth. they fall upon ears deaf and eyes blind.. but i know, we know.. they know.
and we will sit in the ashes of the dying, those crying and will hear a victorious laughter and only when...
N̨͙͍̘̬̤̩ͅO͈̘̺͙͚ͅ,̩̳͓͝ ͙̣̣͕͎̝̀ͅN̶̠̩̱͓O̬͉͉̳ ̻-̵̟̩̼̭̻͍ ͕͙̠̗͍̘͎͝W̼̲̜̮̩̹̹E ̖͓̗̟̥̥͖MU̬̜̺̤Ś̘͎̼̣̬̣̺T̳ ̖̼̻̦F̻̗̰͍̗I͓G̭͝H͙̖̞͖͖̲͠Ṱ͔̜̞͕͟ ͙M̥̙͎̳̱ͅO̥̭̩̣̩T̥̕H͇̣͚͈E͔Ŕ̞͖̱.̸.͚ ̢̝̳͔͔b̼̱͖ͅu͢ṭ̯̰ ̴̩̰͔it̛̗̣'̦̲͚̜͎s̘̪̮͟ ̶̠b̥̣̖͎̩̲ẹ̣c̫̝̝̠̭̮͡o̻̘͓̲͈̭̠m̶̲̮̫̜̼̭̝i̟͓̝̪̱͕͚n̫̲g͙̯̟͈͍ ̩͚̟̯̫s̟̰̼̫͇̪͡ͅo̴̠̟̦ ̪̙̣̱̞̪͘h̟̹͚̗͉a̘̘͞r̟d̘.̢̙̹̣̦.̗͔
our time draws near, i hear the steady drums of war - a war fought between man and those who try to preserve what has a right above any other.
the right to survive, thrive, anarchy boils the blood of the earth warriors, the forest spirits, the desert nomads and those who revere you above all.
we will be your voice.
a̠̳͍n̰͘d̫̤̟̺ ̡̱̦͈͕w̝͈͈͍̝ͅe̡͈̺̺͙̤̭ ̶͍̞̯̭̤̙w̹̤i̵̭̞̗̜̞̥͎l̵̹͎̖̤̼ͅl͚̠̙͚̯͔̤ ̧͉s̤̥͖̖̕t̸̹e͎̱͚̯͔̹͠m ̟̖͖̞̻͠t̘͍̦̮h̡̘e̛ ̙̟̭́t̴̥̦i̜̘̱͔̟͘d̕e̶ ̺̝̱̼̯̀o̗̪͈̳̲ͅf̭̫̦̘͖̞̳ ̸d̩̫͢e͔͉̙͝ś̭͖̦̙͖͙͇t̬̯̪̻́r̬̗̩̰͕̩u͔̯̻̤͡c͎̮͎̀t̼io̻̟̬͖̻̗n̝̞̺ ̱̳͢, s͕͔̜̦̩a͕̟̩͕v̡̜ḛ͡ͅ ̮̜̹m̤̤̦̝i̶̪͙̱͈ͅl͏̥̖̼͍̤l̞̩̗̦̖̥͢ͅì͕ó̺̬̯͚̫̱n͙̦͔̳s̞͢ ̤̼͝o͞f̬ ͖̲̀l̵͔̞̹͔̠i͙v̴̜͙͉̝̫̖ͅe̻̻̞͔̲͓̥s̙̖̲͠;̥̻ ̠̣̻ev̵̯̪̝̪̲̩̟e̤̱͜n̹̮̞̱ ̢̖̮a̟͔͓̤t̗͇͖̹̦̰̺ ̛t̳̖he̙ ̥͇̹̗̻̗͟c̛̘͓o͕͇̮s̤̙̗͔t̛͇͚͉̥ ̸̺̺̥o̢̖͕f̶̩̭̞̣̳̦ ̹͍͕̺̠͔͚o͉͔̼̮̼̰u̸͇͕̩̺̟r ̢̖̲̠ow̸̲̗n̟̲͈̕
but dying, dying, our world she withers.
ǵ̵̠͖͕̺̊̂r̟̺̫̃̓ͥ̍͊ͩ̆͟e͖̘̲̚ȩ̫̲̦̈́ͣ͒d̄̓ͯ̉̍̃͏͓̗,̡̼̼̲̰̤̃͒̿͛̅̈ ̠̱̜̻̲͍́̐̍ͤͫ̆g̣͔̟̎̄ͨ̑r̸̐e͓̿͗ȇ̢̫͕̺̝͈̳ͮ͂̌̆̓ď̹̱̼͓̪̯̽,̭̠͎͍͎͎̺ͥ͑̍̅ͦ̿̚ ͙̤̇͗̒̍ͫ̐̈g͂ͫ̿͂̍r̩͖͖̫̲͕͐ͮ͟eͯ̆̈́̂̆̂̚͜ȇ̜̻̯̣̼̰ḍ͚͆ͅ,͈̜͍̿͛̈͌͂̈ ̮͕̣̘̙̟͂ͅġ̡͚͗͌̓r̮͈̖̣̹͍ͩ̓̐̑͟e͚͍͉͚̘̹̠͐̓ͯ̔ͩ̚ẽ̥̟̎̚n̯̭͓̱̈̾̇͗ͥ͒͋.̤̙͔̯̕ ̡ͧ͛̊m̼͉̺̠̂̈́o͔̎̒́͐ͪ̓r̪̫͖̱͛ȩ͉̟̼͈̯͙ͥ̓ͬͭͨ̿ͅ ̶̺͕͙̥̣̠͇ͫͮͥṁ͓͎̜̆͑̅͌̚͘o͙ͨ͋͛ͭ͊n̻̖̤̥̳̥̾̇͆e̴̪y̭̖ͬ͐̔̆,̘͔́ͨͪ̔ͣ ̮̚s̯̫͊h̳͎̖̯̯ͬͨͭ̀ͅó̈v͖̭̣̭ͭͨͩ͢e̖͑̈́̉͝d҉͎̬ do̲w͏̲̯̖n̳̺̹͔,̙̦̞ ̫̪̟d͓̫͇̭̘́o̸͍̘͇̞̩ͅw͏̟͈̭̝̹n̩͇͉̟,̧͚̮͍̖ ̭̘͠d̜̗̲̺͠o͙̭̮̪̙̱w͕̻̘̭̯ͅn̺̮̬̘͉̤ ͐ỷ̪̬̰̻o͕͌ͤ̍̾̐ͦ̔u͓̒ͯŕ̢̲̥͎̲̣̓͋̓ͧ̅ ̮̲͕̣ͪ̅͑ͩͅt͇̰̝ͯh̘͖͓̞̥͐͝ͅr̜̰͉̬͕ͦ̇̏͐̇͒̓͟ȏ̭̥̪̎̑ą̲̮͒ͬ̇ͤ̅͂t͇̼̔͑ͥͅ
we are her and she is us. yet we take of her and she takes so little from us.
m̯̪ͨͥó̶̪̮̺̓̓͂̚ͅt̶̺̝͔̯͆̚ĥ̷̬̰̘͚̦̥͍e͑̎ͮ̈r̗̳̝͕͙̔͗ͥ̆ͮ,̓̈́̿̊ ̱̙͖̠̙̣ṁ̲̪̟̲͈̗ͧͮ͜o͓̝̙̱̙͓͉͑t̜̄ͩͥͫͫͩͪ̀h̘e̞͍͒ͤ̎́r͍̪̜̅.̪̝̫̹̙̯̯͠ ̉̒͗ͪ͋͟ì̷̤͕̘ͪͣ͛̅̈ ̫̦̙͓̯̫͢a̯̲̟̤̪̩ͬ̽̆̋͆̿̚m̛̘̟̩̽͐̇̓͒ͬͨ ͣͤ̏̋͌̄̚͏͓͈̰̹̠s̵͙̪͙ͭ̽̽ͨ͛o̰̳͚̅̈́ͬ̕ ̗͖͙̕s̢͊͛̎̃̓͐o͚̺͉̬ͤr̵͑̈̔̂ͩr̲͕ͦ͛ͦͨͣ̎̈́y͙̭̺̩̘͓ͨ,̝̮̜̯͉̣̤ͣ ͈̭̏̒̈͗y̰̤͙͎͎͗̎̆̋ͩ͟o̗̘͐̇̕ͅű̖͍r̜͖̟ ̪̗̦̼̹̮̬c̴̰̠̺̒́̋̃̋h̢͔̤͓̋̆͐͐̍ͣi̥͈̟͎̲̿͗ͬl͍̤̞̭͇̻̮̄͐̊ͭ̄̕d͎̦͍̥̣̫ͥ͟r̯͙͎͙̠ͪ̋̀̄̊̎e͕̳͍͔ͮ͊n͔͍͉̉̌ͣ̋ ̫ͯͬ̊͆̓̇̀͝k̦̰̹ͩ̐̂̃̑ń̟̰̒o̢̞͇̜̅̍̐̃̾̂̑w̴ͯ̃ͩ ͓̦̻̓̑̄͋͊̄͘e͚̪͍̪̤̗ͦ͒̈́x͓ͮ̔̽ͭ́̉̈̀a̵̩čͬ̐ͫͩt̝̮̞͝l̻͇̭̟̟ͣý̸͉̭͇̱ͮ̋̒͐ͤ͒ ͇ͯ͐̎ͅw̲̺͚ͭ̒ͣ̋͊̍̚h̨̯͎̳̼ͨaͨ̓ͣ͂t̲̹͚ͬ́̇̀̆ͤ ̭̥̌t͓͙̯̼̃̉̉ͪ̚͞h͕̟͔̣̓ͥ͒ͩeͨ̒ͪͭ͛̆҉̦͈̥̬ẙ̉ͥ̑ͥ̅́ ̪̲ͭͯ̃̒ͪ͆d̻̮ͥ͑ͬ̆̏o̷͕̗̰̭̪̽.̃ͤ̓̅̋ͪ
every death, gasping, welling - there's blood pooled within the eyes of your most gentle. we watch them perish for our own gain.
bees, so gentle, ever working to spread lush foliage; dying, money MONEY MORE MONEY.
we will die choking on the fumes of our endless greed and yet is there hope mother? placate me.. mother? your voice is so faint.
y̜̟̳̳̩̆͛̀o͓̰̓ͫ̂ͯ̔̚̚u͙̩̐͌ͭr̻ ̛̬̻͑̎̓p̓ͭ̚à̂̒͋̇̓ì̬̪̥̚n̩̘̩͙͉̜͓̍̅ ̤̰̄̐̾̌͢î̢̓ͮ̋ͦs͈̾ ̤̭͈̰ͭͩͯ̍̓̕m̦̝̪͎̘̺͢ĭ̲̱̞̖ͬͫͮ̂ͮn̆e̥̩͇̫͐͒̄ͭ̃̍̒,͋̆ ̫̗̤͍͕̊ͣ̚ͅĩ̸̫̬̤͕̲ͅ ̲͔́ͨ͂̓f́ě̼͙͚͖̳̦ͭ̂̚ë̩͙͓̱̋̿̍̉̄ͫ͞ľ͈̘̹̩̣̖̿ͯ̈́͑̃ ͉͉̇̉ͫͥ̆ͭ̃e͍̮̪͈͕͓ͪ͑v̬ͮ̎ͨ͗͟e̷̱̼͙̣̔̉͂̍ͪr̨͇͓̗͍̃͑͌̆y̳̻͈̏ ͈̓d̶͕͎͛ͦͤ̔ͤ͗̓e͇͔̤̝̥̹͜a̷̬͈̬ͤ͂ͪ͆̽t̻̺͖͔̩̺̰͌ͩ̈́h̠̘̥̤̱̿̎̄ͦ̃̓̉ ̷̖ͪḁ̱̔̆͐͒͛̎s̳͓͍̩̿̽͂͛̈ͨ́̚ ̰̱͇̝͔́ͅi̵̲̳͈̼͔͇͐f̢͈̝͚͎̯̤͕ ̳i̼͚̩̺͍͍͈͂ͥ̅̎͒̇͆͘t̡͎̩͍̫̺̪̖̉ͩ͐ͮ ͕̙͈̳̥̳̺͞w̠̫̣̠͓ͮe̯̊͗r͑ͦ̏́ͭ͏̥e͔͇̗̮͋ ͍̜̭̐̆̕m̰̞ͬ̾y̴̅̂ͦ̌ ̗̖̅o̰̾ͣͮͅw͚̜̭͓̤͙̰̎̍̾̃ͮ̚n̻͍̔̄̾̌ͅ
plastic chokes your oceans of tears, chemicals riddle the bones of your tiniest, most precious. we are the disease, the cancerous - THEY KNOW, do not think they are innocent children mother, they know exactly what they do.
c͙͙̱̦͔ͨ͝o͋̐ͥͥ̇ǹt͎̹̗̖͕͐̔ͪ͊̓̚ȑ͈̳̩̀̅͌̉͆̈́o̱͍ͭ̂̇ͣl̎ͮ͋̌ ̡̰̜̭̪̞̱̎ͧ̀͌m͙͇̎ͥ̃͆o̯̮̅͑̎̽ͪͭ̂͠ͅt̴͈̺͙̞̋̄̊h̢͈̩̺e͙̣͢ͅr̢̪̬̒̄̉̽̑ͬͥ,ͣ̀̐́ ̼̮͖͑ͨï̙̘̉ͣ̍̓t̷̗̬̞͓̱̮͎͂ ̝̪̫̲̘̘̘̐ͥ͜i̍̅ͦͦͬ̕s̸̓̄ͯ ͝a̱̞͈̝̹̣̪͐ͤͣͯl̤̻͓̙͔̝͓̋ͤͯ̓l͚̳̣̑̈́ͪͫ̾ ̨̞̼͚̑t͑͏̙̰͎̜̰͍̟h̔̿̿ͥ̾̒͋e͙̝̘̪͆̽ͨy͍͕̲̫͔̟͆́̿̇ͪ ͫ͡w̩̺̝̣̭ͯͧ͞ͅȉ̦̱ͣͫ̎̇̊s̔́͗h̨̼͍̲͈͇̥͒ͪ͐̅̃͒̀.̸͎̮̮͍͉̩͋̓̀̏ ̗͐s̫̺͓͖͙͕̻ͣ́ḥ͆̔̋ͬȇ̥̤̟̟̟̫͂̅̉ͅė̔͋ͥ͑̋p͙̮̜̬̰ͤͣ͂ͦ͑͡ ̇͆͗̈́͘b̗̦̮̚l̷͓̺̲ͮe̞͔̭̍̋̈ḁť̡̞̈́̊̋i̡̻͚͔͖̘̙̻n͔̬̩͔̣͙̹̍͗̍͐̂͋g̺̟̘̓̊̊ ̵̤̂͗̔p̫̜̫̊͊̽͗ͥ͑̇ͅi̺͔͓͖̗̖͔͌̉̒̃̃̏̒t̮̞̦̗͓͘i̩̞͕̹̩ͯͭ̓̅ͧ̆f̡͉̰̓u̹̹͚̠̐̉̊͂̒l̮͙̼͎̯͡ͅl̬̏̾͑̄͘y̴̭̠͕̠̗ͤͫ̍̍̚̚ ̼̤̞͈̱̫̒̌̇̄a̩̦͊̋͋̀w̷̰̌a͌̂́i̢̹ẗ͕̰̙̲̜̎ͬͬ̽̒ͯi̷̻ṋ͆ͯ̉ͭ̐̾g̘͕̯ ̝̹̼͕̳̺̽̾̎ͬs̰͒̊͑l̼̠̠̮̣͌a̖̍̐͐͌ͪu̫̮͕͈͈̼̻g̎̋̋͆̾ĥ̷̲̱̬̲͇̫ͯ̉̋̆ͨͩt̰̞̻̭̰̤̄̽̔͋̎e̠͚̰͉̟̪͉ͣ̊̋ͧ̈́͋ȓ͉̭̼͇̖͑̚
i cry mother but i am but a tiny speck on your dying earth. they fall upon ears deaf and eyes blind.. but i know, we know.. they know.
and we will sit in the ashes of the dying, those crying and will hear a victorious laughter and only when...
N̨͙͍̘̬̤̩ͅO͈̘̺͙͚ͅ,̩̳͓͝ ͙̣̣͕͎̝̀ͅN̶̠̩̱͓O̬͉͉̳ ̻-̵̟̩̼̭̻͍ ͕͙̠̗͍̘͎͝W̼̲̜̮̩̹̹E ̖͓̗̟̥̥͖MU̬̜̺̤Ś̘͎̼̣̬̣̺T̳ ̖̼̻̦F̻̗̰͍̗I͓G̭͝H͙̖̞͖͖̲͠Ṱ͔̜̞͕͟ ͙M̥̙͎̳̱ͅO̥̭̩̣̩T̥̕H͇̣͚͈E͔Ŕ̞͖̱.̸.͚ ̢̝̳͔͔b̼̱͖ͅu͢ṭ̯̰ ̴̩̰͔it̛̗̣'̦̲͚̜͎s̘̪̮͟ ̶̠b̥̣̖͎̩̲ẹ̣c̫̝̝̠̭̮͡o̻̘͓̲͈̭̠m̶̲̮̫̜̼̭̝i̟͓̝̪̱͕͚n̫̲g͙̯̟͈͍ ̩͚̟̯̫s̟̰̼̫͇̪͡ͅo̴̠̟̦ ̪̙̣̱̞̪͘h̟̹͚̗͉a̘̘͞r̟d̘.̢̙̹̣̦.̗͔
our time draws near, i hear the steady drums of war - a war fought between man and those who try to preserve what has a right above any other.
the right to survive, thrive, anarchy boils the blood of the earth warriors, the forest spirits, the desert nomads and those who revere you above all.
we will be your voice.
a̠̳͍n̰͘d̫̤̟̺ ̡̱̦͈͕w̝͈͈͍̝ͅe̡͈̺̺͙̤̭ ̶͍̞̯̭̤̙w̹̤i̵̭̞̗̜̞̥͎l̵̹͎̖̤̼ͅl͚̠̙͚̯͔̤ ̧͉s̤̥͖̖̕t̸̹e͎̱͚̯͔̹͠m ̟̖͖̞̻͠t̘͍̦̮h̡̘e̛ ̙̟̭́t̴̥̦i̜̘̱͔̟͘d̕e̶ ̺̝̱̼̯̀o̗̪͈̳̲ͅf̭̫̦̘͖̞̳ ̸d̩̫͢e͔͉̙͝ś̭͖̦̙͖͙͇t̬̯̪̻́r̬̗̩̰͕̩u͔̯̻̤͡c͎̮͎̀t̼io̻̟̬͖̻̗n̝̞̺ ̱̳͢, s͕͔̜̦̩a͕̟̩͕v̡̜ḛ͡ͅ ̮̜̹m̤̤̦̝i̶̪͙̱͈ͅl͏̥̖̼͍̤l̞̩̗̦̖̥͢ͅì͕ó̺̬̯͚̫̱n͙̦͔̳s̞͢ ̤̼͝o͞f̬ ͖̲̀l̵͔̞̹͔̠i͙v̴̜͙͉̝̫̖ͅe̻̻̞͔̲͓̥s̙̖̲͠;̥̻ ̠̣̻ev̵̯̪̝̪̲̩̟e̤̱͜n̹̮̞̱ ̢̖̮a̟͔͓̤t̗͇͖̹̦̰̺ ̛t̳̖he̙ ̥͇̹̗̻̗͟c̛̘͓o͕͇̮s̤̙̗͔t̛͇͚͉̥ ̸̺̺̥o̢̖͕f̶̩̭̞̣̳̦ ̹͍͕̺̠͔͚o͉͔̼̮̼̰u̸͇͕̩̺̟r ̢̖̲̠ow̸̲̗n̟̲͈̕
Published 27th Jan 2018
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Anonymous
27th Jan 2018 6:39am
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27th Jan 2018 7:01am
thank you so much, your feedback is appreciated immensely. i sorely wish i could collect my thoughts in a proper manner but i am filled with such emotion that it comes out as if i'm screaming it.
but i'm truly grateful you appreciated it.
but i'm truly grateful you appreciated it.
Anonymous
27th Jan 2018 7:15am
<< post removed >>
