3: War grass

The wind bears a promise

I know not yet

What's to come

I find the empty wallet

Belonging to someone.

The skeletons of steel and glass

Wind down the winding road

Black clatter, cans scatter

Where grass has never been sowed.

A tendency to tenderize

A witty fellow's mind

Becomes unnervingly impossible

When the devil passed as kind.

He crossed the forbidden borders

Sailed off to roads and lands

Where the world is not a cardboard-box

And no demon is at hand.

Gone now his subtle dictations

Slid off the crimson grime

And paper-cuts revealing

The grey blood of crime.

Singed off by bombs aflaring

Swallowed by hidden moors,

The old grass was still alive once,

Now only behind catacomb doors.