Red Dawn

Embittered by the cold, I stand solemn, watching smoke rise.

The wind blows. Embers scatter, drifting apart in the air, grazing my hand, filling my nose with the scent of decomposition.

The sacrifices needed to rebuild a cold, dying land.

The mother, Russia, lost in revolution, swept away by the children, reborn again on top of the hurtled masses.

The dead shall be the cost of the motherland.

Arisen from the past transgressions of an Emperor, the phoenix, twisted, tortured,

is left for dead under the might of a revolution, a union of unbreakable freeborn republics.

Red October

This day crimson painted the streets, and the phoenix rose with the red dawn, reincarnated in the children who held onto a scarlet banner flapping in the wind.