Standing still
Crushed rampaged
  metals collide the face
  splashed with guts of the
      masses Massacras being
            routines in all routes the
                   scenes sear the eyes
                        as light flares
                     before the wrathful sky
                 Consuming the night.

           The day is reborn
      the night's sin erased with
  cloths of sorrow, black
bags already gone but
  not forgotten, pardoned
     only when crevices bloom,
            with holes deep
               enough to be filled
                    by the rain.