World War III

A rancid acidic wind flowing
Over the dark, whithered, and decaying petals of a rose
That was left by a young lover on the stoop
Of someone that the idea of God only knows

The violet hue of the sky this night
Turned the empty grey street to colorfullness
Like an Autumn leaf landing on the lawn
Proving to many of a new season’s hopefullness

But the abolition of these times prove
The only seasons we’ll see is a nuclear winter
Sweeping over valleys and the roads of towns
Like a plague, where nobody can be the victor

A joyful whistle came to be a wretched sound
Melting souls like a genocide planned perfectly
But when power and greed are gone, the world survives
By the tiny trees that the war didn’t see.