The moon floats,

The moon floats,

A balloon discarded

Unmoored by happenstance.

Arms raised,

The trees exhort themselves

To do better

Than surrender.

Nothing moves

A village abandoned

Retaining walls brought low

By the scouring.

Time is cruel

I am unbound

Weathering a storm

Of unease.

There are many ways

To travel

Just one road left to take

Stars fall,

Fluttering down in flames

Remnants of past lives

The aftermath of chaos.

Rows of houses

Lie in ruin

At the edge of things,

The echo of a dream.

Entropy, when once,

There was a marketplace

Street vendors

Livelihoods.

There is little peace

In death

It is a maelstrom

Of invective

An abuse of innocence.

When the best of us

Lie in pieces

Shorn of promise

Left to rot,

In dark fields

Under the open sky.

A last repose

Signified by stillness

Slow decay,

And Potash for the daisies.