What cannot be confronted remains hanging as a dark curtain between freedom and the world.
What can be confronted has been. Those walls have crumbled. Rebuilt. Crumbled again.
We waken each dawn and behold the whitewash on our graves....by whose hands we cannot fathom.
The Tower remains. It's shadow falls across our world...though we stand now in sunlight..blinking in awe of what was hidden.
Vast. High in clouds where thunder rolls. Melting and reforming.
Their eyes watch us from afar.
Can it be? Now....it is us they fear?
How sweet that one small victory.