Bombs fall, thundering their war cry into the night,
destroying landmarks and ideals,
heaving missiles and fire into the sky.
Toxic fumes poison the air,
suffocating the living,
while feeding the dead.
Winged things fall to their deaths,
unmarked and forever forgotten
by their peers and their loved ones -
also given up for dead.

Smooth landscapes become
rough terrain; like the pock-marked
face of an adolescent -
still beautiful, but forever changed.
Cars parked inside buildings, blackened,
sizzling, and seemingly empty.
Skeletons forever at the wheel,
unaware of their nonexistence -
still waiting to make that turn
that will take them to a singed hole in the ground.

Charred sticks mark a once beautiful garden,
though the benches have vanished,
and fountains spurt the drudge of the land
revealing the toll the land has taken.
Flowers wilt, knowing that their brethren
have perished, and saddened for their own
imminent demise, for who will care of them?

Death saddened himself.
For what glory is their in masses
dying at the push of a button?
What ever became of the times
in which one died because another bested
him or her with strength or mind alone?
Death continues to collect the souls of the dead,
sending each to the stairs.
A long and merciless task this has become,
because most have died so quickly
they continue with their own lives,
walking to their homes
and standing with their mouths agape.
Where have their homes gone?

He continues his chore throughout the night,
aware of still more jobs elsewhere.
Decay has begun to permeate the air,
in his wake, for all behind him is empty -
Truly empty now.
Done with the town,
Death moves onward,
to the other jobs that await his care.

The sun rises, blushing with fury
at what is seen below.  
Ominous clouds herald the coming of rain,
to wash away the pain of the land -
tears of grief from the sun.
Alas, when the rain has ceased to fall -
the gardens clean, the waters clear,
the fumes gone, and the bodies washed away,
the walls now fallen to cover the holes,
and the flowers standing proud,
because they know that Mother will not
leave them to fate -
we see a spot of green,
risen up from the ashes,
giving all the promise of life
as a certainty, not as a wish.