Death survives inside every grain
Of this smoldering damaged land.
Where the light reflects off of mistaken rivers of wine.
And the translucency of marrow peeks from under
Blackened heaps of ash.
The sun cowers behind the folds of blackened-blue skies.
And the luminous moon hesitantly opens her sleepy eyes.
Overlooking the blood-drenched hills
That trickle down onto the grains
And wither to salty cinders.
The night began its watch shadowing
Over undulating dunes of char and spite.
Leaving the moon with the sorrow of war in her hands.
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