Forest and Dreams

war

Moonlight peeled across they skyline; night receded although there presented no change. The beauty in the night and day was so short-lived. Between the ground and the trees that stood as spires, each wished to take the place of the other. Grey rolled over, the sky covered above, forcing the below to become caliginous. The birds could be no more, right? Or maybe they’d flown above it all, the rolling metal, the spreading crimson, and crowds of sulfur. Maybe the worms can escape it, or the cockroaches hide themselves under it? They wished to become insects because when they sleep no one would sing of them, no one will plaster their names on spires and mourn them. It isn't them who conflict so why should they enter the dance, The silent one that left them nothing but a lone prayer, their weapons only a scattered dream, one that wouldn’t last forever.