Aftermath is quietly succumbing…
Shock reflected from emotionless burns.
Lately cruel barbs and crazed lamenting,
A shell on the beach slowly turns.
Looking up, the Hillside remains valiant;
Like a demon race.
They bring you into a promised land,
Disbelief, a startling blank face.
When you return to reality,
Or what seems to be:
Near the incense tree.
Something inside is filled…
You were asking how,
I would not answer anyway.
I belong to the hills,
A silent reverie.
(Everything had ominous meaning until now. Only if I had the chance of release, significant lives may not have been banished with the salty leaves and sandy sea…)