Prompt: While you and I are alive among blood and ice, Among the oblivion of love in the weariness of labor. On our torn sleeves the swastika has decayed, It would be better to look at the clouds like fools. A transparent butterfly soul in the pollen of hopes He will rise, hurrying home, above the blackness of his clothes. Only the body spilled a glass of milk into the ground, He had so little time to look at the clouds. On pain of our own deaths in the desire to be, We are ready to shed the tears of future children over the edges. Forgive us for the weakness of our souls, for what is deep The sadness of bloody puddles, beyond the clouds...

Style: Photographic