Plight of Life
I stood upon the ruins of what was once a city;
I stared at what was once a home,
That curiously belonged to me as if such bits mattered any more.
I stood upon the mounds of men,
Of what was once a living, breathing person and many, many more,
Now strewn away, frozen and stiff,
And yet still hauntingly alive,
Mocking the living, at the plight of life.
I stood upon what was once a nation,
As lands yielded to the greedy tentacles of infernal flames,
As farms of flames spread their seeds,
As rains of seeds drowned the ominous sound of a thousand bees.
I stood upon his gaze,
The hatred, cold and hard.
I stood upon what was once me,
A haunting memory,
As I mocked at the plight of their lives…