The fears and horrors we see today,
Are merely words compared to others.
They are droplets of blood, flying on wind,
Falling on the freshly fallen snow,
Yet these fears are insignificant
When compared to the fears of the past.
On the innocent white snow
The fears culminate in crimson red.
They stain, and they wound, and in the end
They fade away, never to be thought about again.
But they are never truly forgotten,
They stay with us forever.
And in the shadows of the darkest night
They reveal themselves to us as evils.
They destroy the stories of the past
Making their own dark tales
Which we erase in the end
In favour of the new stories of the future.