The nights still hosted nightmares,
guns and canons punctuating each.
The air hugging me was weighted with tears,
- was that the epilogue of the songs of blood?
The nights wore the mask of silence,
it muffled the cries and strangled screams,
Hades lay in wait beside each bed,
picking lots on his boat's next passenger.
The land wore blood graffiti,
the crimson scared away the shy green,
while the undead sang eulogies,
to the ash, the blood, the ash, the blood.
I walked among that which bore,
no resemblance to that which were Before.
My eyes were no longer awash in brine,
the horrors had stolen even that away.
The unashamed witness, the sun,
scorched away the shadows, the thieves,
when one undisciplined ray struck,
a rogue dew drop sitting on a leaf.
Hope like that which Pandora never felt,
burnt my soul, my heart, the blood within.
My finger caressed that tongue of green,
the dew drop stinging me everywhere.