Dead rhyme

The gunshots rang out through the streets of torment, the corrosive calibre lays down the minds of many, of those unable to hear, to feel his presence.

The trees have come to life, conjuring other worlds of snow and ice, all that we once thought off as sanity has dissolved, now we que, not for material gain but for salvation.

Soldiers hold back a sea of atomic humans, they ebb back and forth, creating, disintegrating, screaming for structure as earth reverses its polarity

Our young, lost to the fog of broken time, fathers tear, mothers cry, ohh God, the Screams vibrate in red grass, tiny footprints gather dark mass for they have fallen to disassociation. 

What will become of us. The books we've left behind tell the tale of unconscious mind, creative scripture, marble statues of humanity's time now layed to waste amongst the presence of a dead rhyme.