Mad Times

Hewn from tortured stone.
From this vantage point alone.
Staring out across wretched tundra.
In the distance screams deafening thunder.
As rivers dry to feed the fields.
Men and women die upon rusted shields.
While birds flee to pastures new.

In these mad times.
Where peace has well and truly died.
Prosperity is but a memory.

Fractured by dark descent.
Hopeful future is now bent.
Buckling beneath failing light.
Where once it shone it is no longer bright.
From events that doomed so much.
Little is left for us to touch.
As decay takes the throne.

In these mad times.
Where peace has well and truly died.
Prosperity is but a memory.

Do you possess the key?
Wading through all that is now distant to we.
Struggling to breathe.
Damned by our incessant greed!

Butchered upon our man made altar.
Forever we fail from our falters.
Grasping at things that are already gone.
Wake up too late and our sentence is…
Written in stone.
We carved it alone.
Fashioned by our hubris takes.
And so we our a victimless mistake.

Ruptured.
Battered.
Choking.
Fractured.
Psycho scripture one and two.
We jotted it down and ingested it too.

In these mad times.
Where peace has well and truly died.
Prosperity is but a memory.
And soon so shall we be.