An Ode to the Scorched Heart

The long streets once lush with gold and wood

now overflowing with blood and flames

The spires that could be seen from far away

now fallen and turned to dust and mist

The Well, what remains of that beautiful scene

now corrupted, vile green and black

and, like you, scorched

And the houses, testament to your high art

abandoned; and again, the long streets

Bodies roar and shake with the fire of fever

and filth and     

your work

your life

rewarded with pestilence

Your utopia, once, now a scorched heart

burned even from the darkest of minds