The wind cries when the world opens up. And the earth sprays forth its lifeblood Like an infant torn from the womb. Laid out along the bloodied ground. For what is left of us but the memory of what once was? No solace for us now. Our words betray us. They leak from the shadow of the woods Amid the patter of distant gunfire. The lullaby of endless war turning our dreams Into nightmares. Recasting our flesh into blackened earth Scorched by the furnace of the eschaton