The house sighs.
How the trees leaves lay limp.
Not even a breath of wind on your neck.
The flowers have wilted,
Blood dried on their thorns.
Not a barking dog, nor meowing cat.
No ticking clock, nor chiming bell.
Naked is the street,
No children are there laughing.
Dead is the radio,
No music does it play.
The sky is crimson lacking all celestial bodies.
It would not matter even if there were,
For people to gaze at them there are not.
Half of me will go to hell,
Half of me to heaven.
Waiting for the hit is the worst part of all.
All rainbows are faded,
All light shut out.
Never will a bird chirp,
A laugh you hear 'tis but a sob.
Bars are empty.
Cupboards bare.
A single flower blooming on the hill,
The one hope.
Only to perish in the looming shadow.
 
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