Windows Without Souls

Oh it has always been told, that eyes are windows to the souls.

But what, if at all.... there was no soul?

If life had been snuffed out by the horrid others and you were left with a person that had died while still alive? 

How would you react to this window with out a soul?

Would you try to help and heal?

Or run left that which devoured them comes for you?

With kindest regards,

The Translator

Watching

Little eyes watching every move you make.

Silently swimming in the little tank.

With lush plants and bubbly bubbles.

Who is truly the trapped one?

With kindest regards,

The Translator

An office curse

An office curse. One to reprimand the crappy coworkers.

One to smite down the evil of the dictatorship that gets fat off the misery of it's employees.

A pox on their egos to bring them down to the hells were they belong.

With kindest regards,

The Translator

Down

Down the weary path of thorns and death that we trudge so gleefully.

innocently. Oh the bitter hatred of the working class that it has for

it's self and not the the higher oppressors that crush them for a

penny more.

With kindest regards,

The Translator

Turning

The twisting, turning of the leaves in the wind belay a liveliness that has long since passed with the warmth and colors of the summer.

Oh how we wish for the days of light and life to return in spring.

Ever closer, yet still so far away.

With kindest regards,

The Translator