The pestilence of greed and fire
inching winching crux desire
feeding off the lives and livers
rotting in an open grave.
The meaningless and base of choirs
calling to the bed of liars
dreaming screaming down on heaven;
begging for that grand release.
These the sounds and sights of days
gone by, enshrined, in tragic blaze.
Of lovers lost in mingled haze
all strewn and torn asunder.
By mighty men and gods of thunder
raining bombs upon eachother
leaving in their wake the weary,
hopeless, and the ******.

Yet from these ashes grave and barren
from this soil sewn of blood
there comes from under, sleek and shining
blossoms of an open bud.
These blighted fields, clear-cut and quartered,
forests downed in disarray
yet still may feel the light of morn
the golden glow, a new day.
The green amidst the darkness, spreading
life amongst the white toothed rows.
A beauty still, this scar’ed smile.