In the shadow of black chimneys
they stumble,
wrapped in funeral rags
drowning in oceans of
ash.
Millions lost,
in lost instants
to the senseless
slaughter,
which they say
cannot happen again;
yet continues
in a myriad
bulletins from any number
of hell-holes
bereft of civilisation,
stripped of hope.
The reign of the
god-forsaken
the march
of the idiots,
prayers that fall upon
deafened ears.
I look back constantly,
there can be no
looking forward
when the past is wrapped
in steel wire,
stretched across blistered
flesh.
The future is lost
a winding road
to nowhere,
souls wander
sightless,
seeking peace
amidst the fading stars.