seen through the columns of rising
smoke
the intention couldn't be clearer
while the tattooed roads wear the
organic stains
as footholds for a memory of fallen
phosphor rain
yet more caustic the harvest we reap
from the drone grown crone wept
bones
even as the stone groves grow over
the dead hope of
the pebble eyed children in their
dreamless sleep
suffer the children our selfish
gains
our bloody games
always the children
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