the last cycle

29 Nov 2015

zazoo
Glowing fields cracked 
by relentless sun 
without mercy
mirror infinity at earth’s curve.

Melding evasive wind 
spins mini cyclones
in harsh triumph.

Stumps of once glorious trees
spread abstract fingers
to a sky holding 
the waste of man.

Across a vast beyond
whispering dried grass
whistles alien tunes
at walkers from the void.

Tall and somber
bowed, 
by war’s weight.
they search for pure water
in a land ravished
with faulty dreams.

Still remembering
ultimate loss, those 
shrieks of pain.

Bad death 
from
faces once loved.

Etched into tenacious memory 
wound’s so deep with 
no point or reason found.

Cruel heat of day dives into
bitter night, obsidian 
with glittering lost  eyes.

Hands are held,
fingers lock
in this wasted world.
even to the end

Generic

Narrative

2

0

zazoo

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