Sandy paths covered with tears of blood falling
on searing sand creating splinters like broken
crimson crystal upon rocks, shattering,
piercing… Weary people… eyes scarlet,
mouths parched: Benevolence died with the
greed of moguls of hate centuries ago. Now
there are old symbols of the era emerging…
brutality and death: Where can justice be found
amid flying lead and the butcher’s knife? Faces
of fear covered, hidden from their own vacant
souls. In the unholy asylums of sand, death is
painted with blood red absurdities, voices of
hatred frantically screaming with no direction…
like feathers in the wind.