In the end we're all bound to change.
A crow perched on a tall rusted cross,
its once white paint long gone -
the cross now a bare-boned effigy
to a god who went silent long ago.
One day the wind will blow,
and the cross will crumble,
eaten away by years of neglect
by a people who forsake their god.
A great kingdom turned to sand,
washed away by the wind and rain -
homes turned to ash,
their inhabitants spilling out of
broken urns.
-Zero
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