There is utter madness on the wind,
Chaos is blooming black and deadly scented flowers.
Despair runs screaming in torn clothes,
Her children crying like banshees,
As unchecked cruelty fills the hours.
Souls bereft of any kindness,
Drag their bleeding feet across thorny ground;
The discarded and the hopeless lie heaped upon a wretched mound.
Eyes that bear no light look sightlessly upon withered fields,
The monster harvesters with their barbaric hands,
Count their bloody yields.
The sky feels heavy and leaden,
A droning dissonance buzzes through my ears.
The world all at once feels like a soundless scream,
And existence, the endless crunching and grinding of weary fears.
Then all at once when it feels like there can be no more,
Some relief is gained from the intruding view;
A small green thing like grows wildly from the ground,
Displaying the impossible hue,
Of some retained hope for what feels like being an exile in a foreign land,
I am grateful for your existence;
A living thing of beauty still grows in the desert’s sand.