The pit that awaits our children

We stand at the brink of a horrible precipice. We giggle as it is our sons and daughters, our nieces and nephews who will fall into the pit, not us. We are the generation of 1910, looking upon the youth of 1914.

Her name is Victoria, she is the Empress of the World, the fruit of thousands of years of bloodshed, and her children rule it, weather it be Germany or Austria or Russia or Serbia or France or India or China. What part of the world is not ruled by the children of Victoria? She is grandmother to the world, but she mourns her Albert. For all her imperial glory, she mourns her husband. Beware! All of creation she owns, but it is salted blue with our bones, says the poet.

Albert is lonely, he is lonely for his bride, and the lonely ghosts are hungry. Once again, Victoria is mourning her husband. The planets have moved into alignment, and Victoria is mourning and full of grief. She is the new Persephone, but she has the powers of Juno. And once again you get to decide, you children of 1910 … do you feed your children to her grief as in 1914? Or do you celebrate the marriage of Albert and Victoria? Choose wisely, for the ghosts of 1914 are lonely and seek the companionship of your children. Choose wisely.

I, Sargon the Magnificent, wrote this.