fiona | she/her

Who will say it? Will America say We have stolen it, or will France step down? Will Russia confess, or will Poland say, We have sinned? All bloated on their scraps of destiny, all swaggering in the immunity of superstition.

Ishmael, who was saved in the wilderness, and given shade in the desert, and a deadly treasure under you: has Mercy made you wise? Will Ishmael declare, We are in debt forever? Therefore the lands belong to none of you, the borders do not hold, the Law will never serve the lawless.

To every people the land is given on condition. Perceived or not, there is a Covenant, beyond the constitution, beyond sovereign guarantee, beyond the nation's sweetest dreams of itself. The Covenant is broken, the condition is dishonored, have you not noticed that the world has been taken away? You have no place, you will wander through yourselves from generation to generation without a thread.

Therefore you rule over chaos, you hoist your flags with no authority, and the heart that is still alive hates you, and the remnant of Mercy is ashamed to look at you.

You decompose behind your flimsy armor, your stench alarms you, your panic strikes at love.

The land is not yours, the land has been taken back, your shrines fall through empty air, your tablets are quickly revised, and you bow down to hell beside your hired torturers, and still you count your battalions and crank out your marching songs.

Your righteous enemy is listening. He hears your anthems full of blood and vanity, and your children singing to themselves. He has overturned the vehicle of nationhood, he has spilled the precious cargo, and every nation he has taken back.

Saturn and Rhea

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