I found this little tree in a concrete jungle
among relics of war of dying and more.
A serene scene of peace resting in this state
the swirling fires of hell at the pearly gate.
the grace of ingenuity in the way we die
a serpents kiss still stings, hate still mean
in the sky you’ll meet, falling ash you’ll reap
Woe to those who could hear the cannon blast
mercy UN-willing under the task master’s lash
broken bodies and shattered dreams if you last
the rest dropped in a pit and buried like trash