mirevolver

Potential lost

I stand atop a cliff and look below.
‘Tis barren land as far as I can see.
Amongst the dark clouds flies a single crow,
Over a city that is now debris.
This land had great potential and great hope.
Lightning strikes a spire people revered,
The structure explodes for it could not cope.
This is the prophecy that all had feared.
There is no future for this salted land.
All that was great here is now lost to dust.
Time has ended in this sterile wasteland.
The wind etches away more with each gust.
History couldn’t save the lore of this place.
It was their fate to end in this disgrace.

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Aside from my great plans to become the future dictator of the moon, I have little interest in political discussions.