Loud echoes tremble in the dark clouds.
A rejoice bellowing shout of praise,
Beckoning hopeful and gleeful crowds.
Sparks of light and color surrounds,
Poor dreary eyes that longingly gaze,
Bathing in children’s tragic, fragile sounds.
Ashes dusting the lost grounds,
Marking the earth with faint red rays,
And soft crackling cries in holt shrouds.
Glass hospice shelters turned to gravestone mounds,
Tears creasing the brims of bleary eyes stays,
With angered screams thrashing in throats bounds.
Uncertainty follows each like dreary clouds,
And with held breaths of worry weighs,
Tightly gripping onto glimpses of cheerful sounds.
Celebrating alone in isolated compounds,
Wishing, dreaming of better days,
Deserting reminiscent horrors to be buried in new grounds,
As quiet, hesitant silence sweeps through towns.