He would declare and could himself believe that the birds there in all the garden round, from having heard the daylong voice of Eve had added to their own an over sound,
Her tone of meaning but without the words, admittedly an eloquence so soft, could only have had an influence on birds when call or laughter carried it aloft.
Be that as may be, she was in their song. Moreover her voice upon their voices crossed, had now persisted in the woods so long, that it never would be lost.
Never again would birds' song be the same. And to do that to birds was why she came.
~ Robert Frost
It's coming, it's coming weapons and death and hate. It's coming with change. It's coming for him.
Taking, breaking, hacking, burning. Stealing away all his hopes for the future. Take it all, he is nothing now. Nothing but a shell of a horrible man, a horrible man with hate and insanity and swallowing confusion. Russia stands for nothing now, nothing but the red, his pride, his people.
America is coming, coming with rage and determination that he could not hope to match but foolishly tries anyway. America is coming with an all-consuming fire that will eat his lands until there is nothing left, always taking and taking… But he has nothing left to give. He has his honor. He has his history.
There is nothing else.
It was a special pleasure reserved for the enemy to see thing's eaten, blackened and changed amongst the dark of night. There was a certain joy in the sight of things charred and blanketed in fifty shades of gray that is his fault and his alone as he dances through a swarm of glowing fireflies.
A gorging, greedy fire that stopped at nothing and stained the skies red and yellow and black. Black like his heart, black like his lands. Bitter like the tears he cried. Gray snow and ashes and insanity as America destroyed all that he had been devoted to build.
Run it to the ground as if it was nothing, like he was nothing.
He's too far in, much too far to ever hope to start again, to undo the horrors he's cause or give back the lives he's took. They will never trust him. They never did.
America is coming, and he must rise to meet the threat. He must be ready to chase him off his lands. He must be ready. They both hover on the brink of war, a place where hope stagnated and stalled, withered and wilted.
Where optimism stuttered before fading, peeling away like a cobweb in a fierce summer breeze because they both know that a nuclear war can and will destroy everything they've ever known.
It will send it all crumbling down, and whilst America is a passionate fire, he is ice. Ice cold and solid. Ice that gripped his lands with a steel grip, much too numb and heartless to feel much of anything anymore. He knows nothing, nothing but poisonous hate and bitter sadness, sour regrets and dead eyes, forever and always.
His rage is much more controlled, much more brooding and silent, engraved in his gnarled heart. Eerie calm and a smile to show how much he's come to love and hate this endless struggle.
And whilst America fights with unwavering convictions, faith in what he believes is right, and a loyalty to see it through the darkest of times, Russia fights with a hostile resolve and the knowledge that there is no other way. There is too much at stake for diversity and opinions. Too much had gone wrong over time for it to be any different.
While he hates to be seen as the bad guy, somebody has to do it. He doesn't care about morals and appearances. This is war and there's no time to be human. Not when he has work to do.
America fights foolish and brave, bright with all the energy a young nation should possess, while Russia is old and hardened, seen too much, too many revolutions and failures, rebellions and hate, rises and falls, hopes and dreams similar to America's never to have a future. It all leads to nowhere.
How dare you hope when I have lost it all?
Never again. Never again would he dare play with things like faith that did not save him. Never again would he be at the bottom. Never again would they whisper, he was Russia. And he was strong. He must keep. He must believe in his purpose.
He is right, he has seen too much for him to be wrong. Unity was the only way; it was the only way for peace to truly be obtained. There was no room for anything else. Everyone will see, he will make them see. They will know that he is right and nothing is worth all the division and betrayal that it had taken them to get there.
And at a time when he believed, in humanity and in himself, in a reason for all this needless hate and blood, he might have been much like America. A dream to pursue, greatness to prove, a vision of the future that might or might not come to be.
But he would have never survived as weak as such. He would never have survived so naïve in such a cruel world. He has changed, this is who he is now. Vicious and violent, more resentful than he has ever been.
He has to compromise. He has to live. He has nothing to fight for but his honor. He has to fight until he feels nothing, until there is no more hate and his job is done. And until he can live in a world that is equal, he will not stop.
Oh beautiful and bloodstained, great and terrible legacy…
He will live in a world where no one hurts.
He will rise and fight America, until the day the nation understands that boundaries set in stone are made to crumble, things like motivation and strength and love are made to break a man.
Wonderful and ruthless, crafty and clever, monstrous hate enough to make them change…
He will change the world.
America is everything he used to stand for, heart and heat and freedom, everything he has now come to hate because he is broken and frayed around the edges and no one was there to save him. He will live in a perfect world where it is only him and blissful insanity, no more harsh realities, no more threats, no more wars.
Just him and beautiful nothing forever.