Revolve

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Flocks of birds don't fly here anymore,
After the clouds made the sky bare; All grey skin
Veins for weather vanes,
Heart beats, thunder.

The wind embraces all,
Howling like a bloodthirsty timber wolf.
Trees cover the tracks with dark shadows; Places for monsters to hide.

A cemetery of scarecrows,
Bleak voices of dusk batter down the gates
Hope dances on a crisp autumn death. Nature is deserting this place.

All green flesh, rotting on the bones and desolation.
Their roots into the earth won't help them,
The rock rejects them and vomits all the goodness upwards.

She is a holocaust, cold, terrible;
Hibernation won't save us.

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