Putrid stench; smoke chokes the
air like demons—vile things
Death's flowers like blackened souls
Blood dried around the lip and
bodies tender from the bruises
My God! Alas, the damage your
children ravage, swollen bodies
crushed beneath the cruelty of man!
My soul— still, hard— sinks the depths of
despondency. Sorrow's sirens sing
out to me, pull at my hair, weave
obscenities as sharp eyes scour me
And death, romantic is the notion of
lover strangling lover 'til
breath and sigh subside to nothing
This soulless thief, would me, devour?
Great beast, if left alone, my
thoughts would thee caress with
painful disease
My God! Have we destroyed each other?
Unceasing, pungent labor, my torment is
mine own inflicted cross I carry
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