Silence.
Silence at the mourner\'s grave.
Who\'s left to mourn?
Who\'s left to remember?
But maybe the ash will remember,
who lighted the fire.
And maybe the wind will carry,
The tales of the fallen.
But who\'s left to hear?
And maybe the stars will whisper,
who won the war.
But charred skies and mushroom clouds blind their eyes
Scarred mother, do you seek,
Where your prodigal sons did go?
The charred moon, a silent sentinel, calls out to his forgotten sibling.
She walks on, and doesn\'t look back.
Not at once caring where the bustling cities went