The Entropy of Our Kindness

2015-05-26

Charismatic breezes of lost potential
longing for remembrance past its decay
washed over this hopeless industrial kingdom
and made my silky hair explode,
releasing razorblades within
the biting frost in our breath;

Spring's warmth came stillborn,
as the entropy of our kindness
murdered our sense of justice,
rejecting our wishes, and our faith.

Dead flowers bloom
in the shadows
of concrete towers
erected by apathetic people
that have never known
the beauty of colours,

almost like a monument
to the tragedy of our souls
rotting in the putrid ichor
of pollution and human shades.

They whispered to me in voices of defeat,
that we are unworthy of this earth.
These wraiths, that have buried their roots
deep into the blood of my conscience,
are relentless in their hunt.

For there is no life worth living left here,
in this city of polluted souls and infertile soil.
There is naught but the cruelty of depraved men
and the death of everything beautiful
awaiting us here;

for dead flowers bloom in our shadows,
only to remind us that that we are irredeemable;
even demons and devils know how to love
their fiery home of brimstone and ice,

while we do not understand love
for our Mother and our home
as something caring, compelled to express it
only through spreading poison with our wind kisses,

and expand the scorched earth
that we've watered with the blood of aeons,
and the dead seas left in the wake
of our selfish mayhem.