Would you slay my open heart, that precious jewel that seeks only love

For in those mechanisms of dastardly war, the thief connives to steal our lives

Through play that once determined pleasure, but that which begat the pain of suffering

Though the fiendish distortions of geometric alignment that serve only to offer pain

And the deception of visual attraction beguiles the weak-minded soul

As entrapment within the precise web, seeks no tolerance other than to serve the evil masters

Whilst taking aim around the perimeter of compassion, reduced within the framework of reach

Surveying the opportunities of devastation, in eager anticipation of the primary goal of suffering

Even though the slope of of trajectory dissipates against the wealth of gravity

The closer opportunities have long since offered the gift to the heartless, that of immediate destruction

The tragedy of design, debased in cruel deception of the eager minds of youth

To those maintained upon the battlefield, whose delineations create the tension of the actual battle lines

Though the children play, with their toys, in glory of the gods of war

Yet sanctified, imprisoned within the enclave of safety, formed as a protective construct of geometries, though unsafe from above

For those missiles might seek the heat of target, in their trajectory of graceful pain, ever directed and controlled

To render the world helpless from distant aggressions, the globe no longer a place of safety from the skies

The shattered illusion of protection, the Star Fort of Bourtange resides in savage fractal dissonance. 

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