What will Come

What will Come

What will come from this land?
What can grow from this ground?

We walk only these dead streets
where trees and grasses once grew.

Insects crawl over hot tarmac
to die in this dead city heat.

We will die alone here too,
far from the scents of flowers
and the soft touch of grass.

We will not hear that last bird sing
or see the clouds grow thick and dark.

Only the cold brick and dark shadows
of buildings that loom and dwarf.

Everything is lost in corners
and turns away from us to go down streets

that can only ever lead away from us
and away from our one true home.