Trail

In the land we stay, from a time best forgotten A single trail was blazed with hope For those who seeked it, and those who needed most It brought the only absolution, the only life in a defected soul. Despite the Fatherly intention, it was best taken with a layer of soot: Flock carcasses, rotten, still stared back Waste, its copper smell, stamped a curse for all that’s gone And, at every step parasites ate their way right through one’s meat; Still yet, it wasn’t the worst that could come. It took less than a day for it all to be gone Hidden under layers of dust But not of sand, such as those spread by thunder Like it did so many times But with soil dumped from machinstic wonders And the Tsar’s wicked hands.