It was half past 8
by the time everything arrived
like a tragedy to the order
of how it is and never used to be

The caskets dropped
signaling the bomb
that betrayed us all
with a little too much structure
and not enough self worship
to keep the garden growing
into ripened tensions
for the autumn riots

But it was a measure done together
broken apart by early frosts
and anxieties for separateness 
created by false dichotomies
mixed with a little bit of their own realities
that were hidden in the corners of their minds

They say that children absorb like a sponge
but what did they absorb that day
with a grown man saying it's useless
because morals only go so far as a little green
created by those that crush them
to make the profits of
unreal societies and their
precious pretend love

Half past brought the clean up crews
to sweep away the blood that spilled
when all that was left
was the aftermath
of something that could have been but was left
to rot on the streets and sink in to the pavement
so the children wouldn't see it
wouldn't know it
and our life could go on as it has since birth
but not before our grandparents
though we like to pretend
so that life can be normal once again
without need for the love in their hearts

So life could keep going
as we wish to remember it.