The Gray Crumbling

I used to roll inside a blanket hide from the blood-soaked wide-eyed; mind shuttered, ears deep into the soul of a candlewick womb. At such times, dad would enter my bedroom, tickle my ribs until I had to laugh. Today, grey blocks are crumbling, the wide-eyed are being eradicated, because they are really, basically ethnically not Ukrainian, the great encirclement is chomping. and there is no candlewick comfort, just wide eyes.