The fields bloody,

The corpses unmoving,

Hope shattered,

Pain as if blooming..

Is this what’s left?

Rot and grease?

We used to live

In light and peace.

As you carefully tread,

Seeing pleading faces,

Your heart turns to lead;

Mourning chases.

Hands sticking out,

Expressions distorted,

Is this what’s left?

Humanity unsorted.