The sky above burned, and when I asked why,
All Modda could do was look up and cry.
The sins of those who have gone before,
Have returned to haunt us once again and more.
Skeletal branches reached up high overhead,
To scratch at a sky that no longer rained, no longer fed.
What lay all around us was memorized wasteland,
Miles and miles of dirt and rocks and wind blown sand.
I scuffed my boot on the ground and offered a shrug,
Against a past I could not remember, I could hold no grudge.
All I knew was that this day I had to survive,
And if I woke the next morn, I’d be glad to be alive.
Ividia 