"What did the comrade say?"

I asked as I thought of how my brother in arm told me of his account of the purge.

There was just silence and the empathizing tear, that trickled down the comrade's cheeks like an old fountain that's about to dry up.

Does this mean that a vague vision of we want tomorrow to be like transcends beyond love and the kindred spirit that was forged when we once linked arms for the proletariat?

I don not know.
Sometimes I believe the Cause.
Sometimes I don't.

I am still enraged by State-fascism.
But at the same time I also find no redeeming value for the working class that only lives for the present.

Shout I then count myself worthy of the purge?

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