Universal

An older poem

 

A dead wind
drops the vale
over decent eyes.
A warm sin
strangely pale
rises in the cries.
A blind stare
at their misfortune,
it bears you no concern.
The cold air
foreshadows doom
that fails to discern.
You cant pray,
you cant plead,
you cant change its belief.
On this day
we all bleed,
today we all grieve.