The Death of Hope

Nothing to look to, none to arrive...

Sheets of green ash to the ground,
Morbid atmosphere, blackened skies,
Whose prayers reached deaf ears.
A finger lies alone among grey,
Rotting, sinking over time,
Into whence-
Grass blades were sharpest.

Sprays of crimson bleach steel,
Somatic disembowelment,
Cries caption the picturesque.
Heads tossed aback,
Not in pain, In sorrow nay,
But in the satisfaction of end.

Disillusionment of chance,
A fool's wish,
Crushing every last ounce of purpose.
An eternal loss,
Nothing to look to,
None to arrive.

Limbless horse, swords clash and spark,
The offspring preach barbarism,
Only to learn transition to the beyond.
Shades of red and mud,
Whiplash and shields broken,
Arrows nailed the corpses down mercilessly.

Battles set and victory decided,
Time slowly unwraps the package of surprise,

The Tomb of Hope

Bloodshed and revelry.
The onset of conquest,
Man's wrath against himself,
To shape shelters and station tyranny.

The potential defeat hark while the leader announces,

"Lend me your ears men, lend me your hearts,

 Lend me your courage..."

And along their essence whisked away by the victor.

Buoyancy disproved,

Life wished away without choices.

The departing breath,

Call out to the guardian,

"Where is thy love, oh hope?"

While in a hidden celestial graveyard,

Lay a tomb - words chiseled without deflection,

"His wings were long defeathered."

----------------------------------------------------

Harish Iyengaar

26th September, 2011.