hope for more survivors
grows paler by minute;
raging breaths vapor
in runaway twilight.
obscene sanity cries
from forlorn corpses,
yet to be dug out
for proper burials.
and white-sheeted men
cower at the altars;
prayers not reaching
high enough to be heard.
beating our chests just
to hold in disbelief
of horrific attempts
bestowed among brothers.
one day angels will peel
the smiles off their faces;
till then, murmurs shall
haunt their quicksand shore.
