This is for Belarus. By Anita.
"...Only weary bones that wake and move underneath their frozen exterior. What longing do you possess that will thaw this deathly cold that grips your heart? What warmth will come to your baron breathing land in the form of hope that will wake you from your desolate sleep?
The hands that reach to you, you hold for a moment in loving gestures, longing for an experience of life. But soon fear rises and you scratch, bite, break and discard the good that was. The moment is gone, leaving only gaping wounds of loss and pain. As is gaze across your land I ask again what can wake you from your death?"
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