Monday, December 22, 2008
It was bedlam, sheer chaos and collapse,
Of the city, the inner lot of buildings
Found in the country.
It composed of musical houses, golden shrines
And stationary and moving vehicles.
The bombs scolded me as well, lifted the lot,
Scalded me nearly, and wore my gait.
The running men were innocent, walking men
Your city burned up till midnight,
Until fires were extinguished by the men of fire.
The city burnt again as the people recovered afterwards,
For they needed bandages and badges, fire was grotesque,
Fire made no sense, just not one sense, for it died
And everything died, when all was well, and afterwards,
All was well yet dead were some, and their families were somewhat dead.
The anarchy of this unique city fed as something else -
Hell on this world, hell to worsen the tracts of time.