Times turn like the waves
A certain shine of light
Ray on churning waters
Waters of brown and foamy white
Long polluted, sky of grey
Clouds dark, sure to mark
The coming of acid rains

Glass beach, its sands still turning
Still weathering, slowly becoming grains
To sift through fractured fingers
Miniscule cuts, scabs, and scars
Some fragments remain, to be plucked
By trembling appendages
Looked upon by
Sockets of long faded visions
Once so bright, not shy of a spark
Only to be overcome, shrouded by the dark

Skin and bone
Shadow and stone
To stumble about
Hollow husk
Pillar of flesh
Worn, long ago beaten and torn
Canyons and marks
Of days long ago
Gone to some
Whilst the lingering
It is ever present
Every waking dawn
They once again live

A time past the grand game
A time past “theirs” and “ours”
All that now remains
The tattered, the rubble
City rats searching for scraps
Become what they must
Far more than simple pawns
Once a tide of surging force
Now mere observers
Of the ruins of reality.

- Jay M
March 15th, 2022