Posted in original

Wicked

the stars are out with a piercing arrow

a dagger beneath the moon

the sky bled for thirty days and the bodies burnt for thirty more

 

a black heart has cursed the land

decaying every crop

the rottenness of ones heart

has created a plague so devastating

 

a stream that flows black ash

cannot be resurrected

as the sword has pierced deep

 

man’s wickedness is shown greatly at war

and yet somehow, there is still that kindness

no matter how small may it be