Dead

bubbling burgundy blood has dried

a green sky faded back from red

bruise-wounds and coughing-clouds

dissipated.

Vines spread like veins

blood pulsing purple

crawling up marble towers

once shown, now lusterless

Crows fly along

peaceful black rivers

carved through the land

like stone.

Burning conics of power have fallen,

grids and latticework collapsing on themselves

straight lines ease of into curves

all no one can hear

is quiet.