Eyeing Into The Heart Of That Land Poem by welkin siskin

I am
eying into the heart of that land
In this seat of war,
There are no holds barred.
The loam of her heart is shattered.
There is no life; there is no article of faith.
There is no law, there is no truth.
There are only far-flung newsletters
That shout slogans of lathering puzzlement.
The news reads dreary and lurid death toll.
The hills are sorrowfully ghastlier
than the documentary ever seen.
The village smells horrible.
The nook and corner of the land
is wrapped by a sequel of grisly crimes.
The streets and Jungle are not easy to pass through.
The bodies of death people
lie every where
mourned by the skies
and the emerald verdure.
The silence prays and pities
for their homage in sobbing mourning.