Aftermath

A whisper of wind,

almost a memory,

ghosts across the desert floor.

Once there were men here,

and animals,

trees,

and plants,

life defined,

gone now,

the silence of the dead land remains.

Men came shouting and screaming,

a great battle in a great war,

then fire fell from above,

consuming,

destroying.

And those fires died down,

and a soft ash fell upon that life which remained,

fell gently,

poisoning,

burning,

the radiation took what life still clung.

Bones remained still,

left undisturbed,

and the dying land took them into itself,

bones sunk into the earth,

buried beneath.

Once,

there was life here.

No more,

no longer,

nothing remains.

Just the memory of wind,

and rain,

and life.