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it doesn’t take much to kill a man

the sun rises over the desert
engrossed in the aftermath of solar flares

over dusty skeletons
left over from eons of war and its silent decay

tethered moonbeams grapple with the sea
casting their reflective silver onto ghost ships

drifting without a crew
over waves breeched by a paradoxical destiny

it doesn’t take much to upset momentum

tides are forgotten in whims of undulating movement
dreams become perishable commodities long forgotten

flesh is dissolved in empty vats of consciousness
gazing into the membranes of hearts gone blind

gladiators will fight until the death
countries will vanish in molten waste
seas will vaporize into an unknown vortex

it doesn’t take much for love to be strangled
by its own blind asphyxiation

cast into a wellspring
imbedded by bloody handprints
grasping to reach its brim

wondering how and when to ascend
before it’s too late to slip

it doesn’t take much to absorb
the dexterity of being reborn

or to mourn the man
killed by indifference

it takes skill to see through the difference
inertly bestowed by fate

if not, continue waiting
so to not disturb the peace