A complete blank page
with black ink spilled all over,
the fire burns deep inside-
so visible yet invisible;
close to the fire,
you see nothing but the whiteness.
Yet in your eyes,
you see the fire
that burns away life
leaving nothing but ashes of death.
Travelling,
to a place with life,
in this metropolis lies no such thing,
only death exists-
and the fire continues to love.
The last remaining, going-to-be killed,
he raises his hands,
like a cross ready to be wiped out.
He willingly accepts death
with a calm expression that knows nothing
of the after-pain of the burnt-scars.
In the heart of the death,
and in the dead of the metropolis,
it doesn't contain a single word spoken.