Blood on the leaves
The dawn drew its last breath
The brush gave way to marsh
That then became weary in the cold air
The winds grew calm; cessation a sign of things to come
The sun dimmed. Then fluttered. Then its glow just faded
away
The clouds hummed
Their once mighty roar reduced to a faint whisper
Indiscernible to most by the day’s end
And the houses they built
From the edge of the sprawl to the corners of the
wastelands
The houses they built just crumbled into the ground
The heartbeat of life stumbled to a labored, rhythmic thud
It would all have been for not
Had I not loved her
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