Aftermath War

The lands, they were sacred,
had to keep a secret.
One so cruel and reckless and wicked,
where the land's people were wiped out like a wicket.
The seasons were one long winter,
and the rare sun striked through like a splinter.

The woods were nothign but a graveyard,
the trees were leafless, bent guards/
The insects scurried amongst them, imposters,
fugitives from the living, the dead's hosters
At night, you would hear the cheers of joy,
the screams of pain, the cries of a boy.

For, once, in this land, were streets of laughter,
until the content family in the corner lost their daughter
to the dark, when it conquered and promised cookies to the innocent,
and spoke rage, tragedy, merciless in fluent.
Every sword they raised,
every sould that bowed, once,
is now buried underneath
a b r o k  e n vow.