Desolate Land

The sky is so black,

and thick like a custard that has gone bad,

and on the ground, houses are burning,

while the air is filled with toxic gas.

Bombs are blowing with old guns firing.

It is a place where no airplane will go,

because missiles are always flying. 

Little boys are crying,

with no arms to wipe their tears.

Every second of everyday,

they are living in fear.

It is a wicked place where their life is death.

There is no freedom,

with the impossibility to hide,

because the buildings have no walls

to worship inside.

There is no peace.

There are only pieces,

where it seems as if,

death never ceases.

I am not a conspiracy theorist,

a realist, or surrealist.

The only name I am called,

is a believer in Christ.

As the devil tries to make his way around the world,

I know the he will not prevail.