3 A.M.

Ghosts of the Holocaust hover over the earth.Chemical gas curls around the forgotten footprints left by JesusOn Syria’s soil where fleeing refugees thread throughA narrow span of time, homeless targets in death’s hourglass.The archeology of murder always digs up a witness.

Sirens scream. From the alley the echoing roundsOf automatic weapons bullet through bodies blastedAgainst an operational text written by the chess handOf tyrants. When conscience unravels in the wind,Ash settles around the soul. Light flickers dims, snuffs out

The last syllables of sanity suffocating under the rubbleWith a human fingerprint registered in the patent officeOf the maker whose drone armies fly like summer gnatsAround the eyes blind to beauty. The wandering TiresiasStumbles from Delphi with oracles dripping from pores

Sizzling on the altar fires with what lies ahead when TruthExplodes into night rain falling on a city ignitedBy the hounds of suicide bombers devouring life with teethPulling on the fuse lines timed for the end. Furnace fires of fleshBoil in the mirrored memory of Hiroshima evaporating the last drop

Of water from the sea of creation. All language is void, unformedIn the chaos of spoken howls silenced by thunder voicedBy the dark lightning from a Mount Olympus where the gods of warIn the shape of man now blow across the plain in dust – dissolving urnsAs gravity pulls apart the shaded shadows of reason. It is finished.