there waS once a garden of life where
the desolAte ground is now stained
from heaVy rose petals fallen and blown
away by thE steady yet unforgiving wind.
a grave sight holding wishes,
past loves, Years unremembered, futures
where now fOssils remain of what was
once alive. bUt is the blood from roses?
a faint whispeR with a quiet echo
says “can we eScape” as the
city of death seEps upward in the form
of flame for the Lord’s last day, but
stay! the season oF insomnia is just
beginning, with the contagious disease
of fear spreading, forgetting the years
where peace was power and god’s eye
watched only for sinners.
how will you survive?
