Fossilized remains animated
to maintain the facade,
the matinee.
Babbling brooks are now
waterless dry.
Ignorance flows
stupidity thrives.
This is the brook where
life comes to die.
Carved through a forest
that was laden with pride.
There is only dark,
a lack of sunshine.
The flowers have wilted.
The birds all took flight.
This is the brook where
life comes to die.
There is nothing but moss left.
No crickets. No mice.
There once was a brook here
that created all life.
The rocks are all dry here,
they are covered in strife.
This is the brook
where things come to
die.