mael0420

WORN
in a thousand years
the grains havent shifted much
winds of sorrow blow around the dust
the strings still play
the haunting tune
the sun rises and falls
February through June
the crimson cliffs
pass the echo around
and yet there's not a single sound
the storms come and go
water swirls and flows
then evaporates, leaving deep cracks
below the (scorched) tracks
the (forgotten) roots lay
tangled mess
rotten at best
nothing grows
nothing shows
because deep below
there's too many holes
a martian landscape
relics of life
scars and craters
a ghastly sight
there's not much reason
to stick around
when all there is
is desecrated ground
many will come
but few will stay
and that's how it'll be
until everything fades