A dispassionate nature now reigns in our place.

There are no more elaborate words to describe

how we are in a world that enfolds us within

our own pain.

Our poetic words, a well of wisdom, now

used up. A darken gray swirls around us as the fog of doubt descends. Colors slowly start to fade

as they stare dully ahead into the

vast landscape of retribution.

We stand together in self-denial of each fact

that was overlooked. Our restless souls, they rest

inside us, caged by our own limited minds.

We don’t move forward, only lament the past.

So everyday stays the same, and we, an unmoving

piece of discarded life.