the last cycle

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