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Quiet. Subtle quiet. It’s the only thing around and it’s good. The quiet brings the first traces of morning. It isn’t going to be passive for long, but it is the perfect symbol of tranquility while it lasts. The soft light all around, wanting to be known. It can be so many things, especially in this place. It is all there is to remember to be guarded.

With each dawn there is hope. For some. Despair for others. Death for even more. Nothing is ever stained in purity here, not any longer. The light brings the quiet to unreachable places. It’s so subtle in its invasion. The waking dawn and the quiet that encompasses it. It’s nothing like the death we bring.

It’s nothing like the chaos this place has gone through. Deliberate uproar. Fine and delicate strings being tuned just so, to be pulled and torn. Havoc. That’s all it is. That’s all it ever will be. It doesn’t matter how organized it looks on paper. Being here is something far different. It’s experience. And death.

The sky looks like death, even this early in the morning. The silence is so still, it could be tranquil, but it sounds so close to death there is little difference. The plays in the light make it hard to tell if it is peaceful and passive or a cry of mourning. A pleading to the heavens to uncaring gods. They never hear anyway.

The colors, as the morning beckons, it paints more vividly the deaths of so many. The pain of a nation. The death of a country. The mourning of a people. Murder in the sky. Orders of the mighty cast on the few. Just like pawns in chess, to do as they are told. Waiting to be sacrificed for the greater good.

For the greater good. Unknowing what this greater good is, but fighting for it anyhow. Being conditioned that it is for the best, that it is good, that it is something that should be desired as well as cherished. A common ground for all, not just all pawns. For the greater good, on to the slaughter, just like sacrificial lambs.

Those that are left, have a life to live to remember the silence. To remember the sky. To remember the quiet, so subtle in its ways. The way it will take over everything, including the rays of light from the sky, the colors fading into the clouds, the outcroppings in the land, the bodies that litter the surfaces of everywhere...

The quiet brings many things here, watching the water, the dawn slowly approaching. Thinking is never wanted and always needed. Thinking ahead, thinking of what was, thinking of what must be done. None of the outcomes or outcomings will be good. Nothing that can be thought here can be positive. There isn’t a way.

The quiet all around speaks that we haven’t been discovered yet. Those that are sleeping can stay asleep a little while longer. The quiet speaks of calm tension in the air. The quiet speaks of all things left unsaid and unspoken. All needs that will go left unfulfilled and unattended. The quiet speaks of the death all around us that lingers in the air, painting a picture of the murders yet to come.