770900
8
If ever there could be such a thing as a living
graveyard,
this deceived bereft land models the essence
of what it would be—
its bewildered wandering beings chasing
a weary hope
that has now become like spiraling smoke escaping
an abandoned fire.
As the world turns, death waits in hungry
ambush
for those who wander in the abject despair of
betrayal—
their once life-giving air now filling with flakes
of ashy tears.
Abandonment has no conscience nor fears any form
of regret;
once allied promises have become ice cycles
in summer.
In the changing narrative of the times, rivers now run
with blood that the heavy laden ground can no longer
absorb.
Burned branches of remaining trees are populated
with young bodies
hanging like rotting fruits ripe for the matchless taste of
vultures.
Amid this inglorious cruelty, we have become encumbered
with vulture-like waiting.
