Battered buildings sag together,
Twisted trees now show their roots.
Shards of glass crunch so harshly
Underneath the troopers' boots.

Death at last has drifted onward
To bless some other cursed land.
People see the foolish practice
Of building homes upon the sand.

Scratches mar the shiny surface
Of the lives that people knew.
Temporal things are ripped asunder.
All that's left is what is True.

Churches overflow with living,
While the cemeteries grow.
Shock subsides as insight heightens,
So men may learn what angels know.