The Dusted Years
The fields went bare, the oceans calm and the air thick with dust. Crops were buried in the depth of earths cough. It appeared as if death had showered its breath upon the once marvelous existence of man.
Hunger struck the every belly that walked the lonely paths. Hands that sewed the fields now cry out into the dusted air. Faces ragged of despair and fear, depression sulked the very heart of everything. Men struggled to provide, women lost touch in the nurturing.
The world flipped upside. As if the gods were in the mood to shake the earth in the curiosity of experiment. Laughter was little, frowns were in heavy supply and pain was given for free.
Children clung to the neck of each breath; as any form of sustenance was only convenient to those in the embrace of bureaucracy. Or those that salvaged their future before it ever arrived.
The teething need to survive sprung a leak in the bowels of crime. Many came crawling to its rising stench. Seeing the easy and ignoring the repercussions; provide or die, steal or die. Falling victim to the novelty of illegal risk.
Bearing little thought of the butterfly effect. Causing havoc in the steady life of the simple man; a nuclear family. Appealing to the hopeless with the flashing of treasure. Men willing to spill blood in the seeking of wealth.
Forgetting the hardship of survival in the face of life. Forgetting the growth of character and swallowing the spit of flesh.
The world was at bottle neck; a constricting hell of broken economics. A failed attempt to give all to everyone.
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