The Dry Eyes of Sinners

Written 2012

Moonrise, the sun falls on sands turned to ice,

Hell burned starfire dimming damnation;

freedom to the damned, condmemned--

the wasteland stands brilliantly painted

in black and red.

Their dry eyes flow blood rivers

to beauty known forgotten;

Saints among sinners they stand bound

in cracking chains,

their anchor to a sun scorched home,

their Hell burned to darkness.

Author's Note

With this particular piece, I wanted to establish vivid imagery. Did it work?