To crush it
With an aimless wrath
Inside its arid heart
Unknowing that wind
Like Death
Blows along
Boundless swaths
Yet long for rain
Its bosoms bare
To quench
The broken veins
Of rivers wild
That nurtured dreams
Hungry raptors slither
Beneath an auburn sky
Mourning for banquets gone
Past they fly
While Helios feasts
On the agony
Of a wasteland
That has
Nor fear
Nor shame
For its nudity

By H. Marcos C. Mordeno (aka Red Moon)
Christmas Day 2007