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Poem

A voice fills the ears of the dead
There are walls covered with red paint
In the heart of the slums

The sky is eternally gray
The clouds moving along sluggishly
Like the people walking the streets

The buildings feature glass-less windows
Where ghastly specters now roam freely
Spreading the plague of hushed voices

In one building a little boy hides
His knees are scraped and covered with grime
And sobs shake his tender form

The darkness shrouds him like a cloak
But instead of warmth he feels cold
The frigid hands of the phantom

His mother was felled by natural means
For earth shot through her heart as a bullet
Placing her in the hands of Death

Yet the camera moves out of the house
Shifting to look at the entire ruined city
A remembrance of a time long passed

Like the trash that filled the streets so often
Bodies now lay scattered over the entire city
But instead of fear in their eyes, it is laughter

For the feeling of joy was all they could muster
Against the bloody tyrants that ripped them asunder
And filled a city of angels with the whispers of ghosts

Humanity wished for a serene golden age
Where hatred, brutality, anger, anguish, fear
Were finally eradicated

That wish has been granted with an iron kiss
Yet the irony of the empty and barren world
Is that it all faded with humanity leaving an empty void

A single voice fills the ears of the dead
A waylaid message to turn back the clock
In the heart of the slums

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