In the land we stay, at a time best forgotten,
A single trail was blazed with hope
For those who seeked it, and those who needed most
It brought the only absolution, the only life
in a defected soul.

Despite the fatherly intention, it was best taken with a layer of soot:
Flock carcasses, rotten, still stared back
Waste, its copper smell, stamped a curse for all that’s gone
And, at every step
parasites ate their way right through one’s meat;
Still yet, it wasn’t the worst that could come.

It took less than a day for it all to be gone
Hidden under layers of dust
But not of sand, such as those spread by thunder
Like it did so many times
But with soil dumped from machinstic wonders
And the Tsar’s wicked hands.