Soldiers march through cobblestone streets eyes barren set on governed heads high Rifle slings shouldered without trace of merciful man...

Are the walls to keep us in? Or to keep the earth from finding us? The shrill morning whistle blows and my feet slap the paved track. I...

There are endless tales to be read in the paths within palms of bruised hands flavored with glory, but leaving a bitter aftertaste We are...