A Thousand Sorrows

The Land of a Thousand Sorrows beckons, more afraid of locked doors than firm walls with no windows. A pattern erupts where chaos once was free. Take no charge nor conciliatory tone with me. I'll meet you beneath the keystone, directly above the familiar catacomb. You will hand to me what is yours, and I shall take you as mine as well. Litter is strewn beneath the parapet; an umbrella keeping the acidic rain in. Formulating revolutionary agendas- let the blind lead the blind as far as they can see. Roving armies bent on war abound, while women try to hide the children beneath rotted floors. This is the Land of a Thousand Sorrows, this is the place we call home.