Desolation of Days

The black hearts of men; the wantonness; the covetousness; the deceit.
The taking of innocence; the screams; the blood that cries out for vengeance.
The wicked thoughts of the mind that corrupt and corrode the soul and spirit.
The darkness of it is black like tar; the stench of it—pungent and unfamiliar.
It causes the eyes to water. It stifles the air in the lungs. 

A once beautiful red rose is wilted and discolored; the stem becomes lifeless. the petals decompose from the edges. When they can hold on no longer, the dark  petals fall away into the abyss. 

The bloodshot eyes that have witnessed torment, and lifelessness, and misery. The dark cell with heavy chains; the moaning and the cries of men in that place you can’t see your hands in in front of your face; the terror that stalks and lies in wait. The unquenchable thirst. The dogged hunger. The silence and isolation that leads to madness. The insanity of the once astute, well spoken and sane. The grinding of teeth; the nakedness; the withering away of  flesh. The numbness of the soul. The anesthesia that is sought to take away the pain. The dark clouds; the eternal rain.

The desolation.

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