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| Silky Mist |
3/14/1994
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The body count rises until it overflows.
Nobody can see through the mist that grows.
The twirling mist blankets the countless dead.
The bodies are covered with wounds that just bled and bled.
This is war!
Nothing like this had ever happened to these people before.
Common people with basic lives.
Young people, old people, yearning only to survive.
The twirling mist comforts these people, making them feel at peace, at last.
Look here, a young boy of nine!
Here's what's left of his body, here is what was once his spine.
Here is his leg and here is his boot, here is what remains of his foot.
Disaster has struck, bringing no luck.
Why have they been so unkind?
A young girl also lies here, quiet, lifeless, with nothing more to fear.
The misty blanket covers what she had one been.
However, that was not much, as all she was to people was skin.
Her body did once exist, but that was all.
Now the only thing that is a part of her is the mist.
The sun begins to shine through the silky mist, grabbing hold of it in a tight fist.
The mist itself separates and becomes torn, it is no longer together, it is reborn.
People lie dead everywhere, but for them, the end is nowhere near.
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