It was all over, the sounds had stopped
The fire was doused, but the smoke persistent
People reduced to piles
Chaos, tumult and cries
No one within a half a mile survived
They called it the “little boy”
This time the “little boy” left very little hope
The dead left behind ashes the Knackered dragged themselves unto
Hope can be a very dangerous thing; it made them think they can make it Brushing aside the debris, crawled their way home. They never found it though; for the innocent, confused whom to blame God had become the enemy, tears baked their faces There were none left to shed
They no longer believed in “time heals”
They didn’t let time go, because the more it went
The more it took away
They realized “forever” was an illusion
And that “now” was the truth.