Brown, broken, crumbling,
The dirt lies undisturbed;
Telling a tale of fumbling,
Of desires yet unheard.

Ashes float down softly,
To light upon the ground,
To smother things getnly
Barely making a sound.

Dust hangs thick and clogs the air,
Floating since the the day 'twas hung,
Blocking out the world so fair,
From the day the bell was rung.

Silent lies the stone-cold earth--
Death holds sway o'er all the world--
Hanging there, from its day of birth,
Until demented lips are curled

And with a joy the button pressed.
Bells are rung and sirens blare,
As all of humanity is repressed.
Blazing forth to pierce the air,

Bringers of doom, sent on their way.
All is finished in a flash,
Comprable to the light of day,
Leaving as their testimony only a trace of ash.

A man is walking,
Along a stretch of beach;
To himself he is talking,
Pleading with thoughts beyond reach.

His footsteps in the untouched sand,
Away from the reach of the tide,
Remain in that place today, and
Forever there they will reside.

The man is gone, and his memory too,
There is no one left to exist.
By this token, too,
There is no one to resist

The presence of the immortal trophy,
Left by a man unknowing.
The man could not have known at birth
That his would be the only footprints in the slightly scorched earth.