Two glossy ravens
patter along the rusted tracks.
Green and Blue sheen
melds with the metals reflected light.
Like acid to the eyes...
Scurrying across the burning path
long ago deserted.
Golden grassy stalks that border
dare not bend or rustle.
Like an army in salute...
The fowls pace is quickened
as the sickly sun sinks west.
Darkness stirs from it's slumber
slowly inks across the sky.
Like blood dropped in water...
Liquid black pupils survey the change
and press on forward.
The hollow way abandoned
never finished, left to rot.
Like the broken-hearted...
Turning back towards the sun's corpse
returning to where they had come.
Tiny claws tapping rhythmically
the melody of the tracks.
Like haunting echos of the past...
They march on.