The second hand


    ticks


    over a silent room


    where sits the empty chair


    chained at the bent leg.


    A quiet sunlight


    tumbles in from beyond the


    iron bars


    unyielding.


    Once, the wind carried a soft


    flutter of rose warmth and


    serene sunshine.


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Now, a thick dust settles


    over barren valleys


    stripped naked,


    left violated,


    discarded by those hands


    that once sowed the soil


    for the faintest flower.


    The clouds no longer


    need to inhabit the sky.


    They instead don


    thick coats of


    dust, radiance, and foul stenches


    to roam the place


    Where once there were others.