Tree Swallows fly

In the veiled skies

That hides the horizon

And echoes their cries

From the tremor's destruction


With just a glance

I could smell the stench

In the crimson visions

That haunted my thoughts

And the sounds of fears

Burned within my ears


The only solace was the sun

Rising from its rest

Casting hope

Upon those left

Sheltered in the tents


Choices are illusions

Rolled atop the rumble

Or churned in soils crumbled

Survival is nurtured

By a past buried in rubble

Waiting without a promise

On a chance

That never comes


Their dreams

Are built on tremors

Because there is

No place to run

Just as the swallows fly

Looking for their home.

11/03/2010