Wasteland

Across a burnt out landscape,

I trudge on down a road.

Heavy is my weary heart,

Yet light is carried load.

…

I see burnt out husks of bodies,

See echoes of their fear.

Some in prayer and some in flight,

Some holding close those dear.

…

I see a dried-up river,

No water here to cross.

No flows of blood are here either,

The lifeblood of the lost.

…

I see husks of burnt out cities,

Like gravestones standing high.

Sentinels, above the wastelands,

Below a dust-filled sky.

…

I see so much, yet nothing living,

This world I'm free to roam.

Yet still I feel stranded,

In this burning world, alone.