A SYNCOPATION OF RESILIENCE / UNYIELDING AT LAST / BITTER FAREWELL TO THE GHOST TOWN.

Boots stomping, aligning with a heartbeat that carries fire inside its rhythm that could scorch a treacherous illusion. It was jagged, it was raw. Far from something that could be forgiven as perfect, yet they rode it anyway.
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Foreordained, howling against the abandonment. A makeshift shield of indifference was not a scrimmage with wielded pride and alliance. Wandering, daunted by their own void, reflecting what the past wanted to bury.