we cough, and breathe in the dusty air.
we cough, and whisper desperate prayers.
as the thundering march of feet
fills our ears,
fills the streets,
we sit and cough and think and cough
of walks in the park and leaves raked off,
of that deafening silence and that blistering cough,
of those days where we would just sit and slack off.
but this blasted gray sky, it looms overhead;
bodies in carts, for days they have bled,
a river of life now a river of red ?
lingering emptiness and unnerving dread.
these shrieking screams and these shrieking wails
are pierced by the sounds of guns and gales.
this empty hull, this lonely ghost town;
our homes and our hearts completely worn down.
with their ice-cold blades and stares, they poke
these people, who can only cough and choke ?
think and cough and weep and croak:
but all that is left is a city of smoke