the words are taking on new shapes and singing in a different tone

where once there was hope and security

now lies the pitious bones of a former skeletal haze

the earth is marred by clumsy handfuls flung in furious motion

a grave in the place of a flower bed

the sweet scent of honeysuckle replaced by rotten milk

the grapes on the vine ferment in there thin viscous skins

it is all putred and filled with a sense of regret for sins unyet performed

a ballet for crippled hands and arthritic feet in a stage of barbed wire whimsy

the swans become crows crowding the once placid waters of childhood delight

death permeates and corrupts

and what were once verdant fields become bogs with bubbling gases

the wind blows in fumes belched by chimneys on factories of implements of war

choking the trees until once tall oaks are whithered and gnarled

there is beauty in this desolate landscape

a dystopian sense of innocence and loss washing the color from the landscape

as weary legs plod onward

ever on

to till the soil and sour the soul

gentle wisps of toxic fumes color the air in shades of brown

light filtering through the ragged leaves in a crimson arc

and onto the fertile fields of loss and remorse

something noble has died and in it’s place risen a dread fear of hopeless denial

spiders of anxiety slip into well worn solace

spinning webs of deceit and nagging guilt

heavy boots on the backs of the downtrodden stomping

yet no sound is whispered from their now broken lips