No Cure

Ruby Residue

Your corpse is riddled with ruby residue
My friend, there is no cure for you
God would not be appeased
The spirits could not be pleased. No prayers
Or sacrifices or religious rituals would do
And, once again, I look at you.

What drew you to this troubled region,
This zone of apocalyptic restlessness
This land replete with death
What reactionary pedagogue
Instilled the altruistic madness that resided
So stubbornly in your head

Above, the clouds resume their duel
The wind screams across the land
You walked into the storm
Fearless while we slammed our windows shut

Already I can hear your spirit
Walking above me
Today is the first day of your death.