In these haunted halls of what was once perfection,
decay and desolation walk hand in hand,
screams of despair and smell of death,
break the silence and repulse the senses.
Where has beauty gone in this life we live?
Where everything was once steeped in colors bright?
Has time taken its toll, taking beauty in his wake?
The world is already turning gray, its edges are already crumbling.
What will the morrow bring?
When life as we know it is already falling,
breaking into hundred thousand pieces,
brittle as glass thrown on the ground,
scarring the earth that bleeds from wounds inflicted.
-The Elusive Scribe 082313-