WORDED.ART

Smudged horizons,
Square mountains,
Spewing ashen smoke.
Amidst scabbed vistas,
The last of the old gods
Screams in silence —
Of poisoned wells,
Of beauty, lost.
Her narrative, unheard,
Cut short.
Sorrowful she waits
For the axe to fall —
Mistaken for
A long-faded totem,
She weeps
For prosperity’s cost.

@yonar on Twitter