Departure

Sickles hammers knives and swords
Fields of flesh burning away.
The instruments and their human forms
Will not see light of another day.
The entrails speak of memories long lost
And lessons learnt from far away.
There's a glimmer of the God I knew
Whom I heard as I first sat to pray.
They all have said their teary goodbyes
But their fears He never could allay.
God, they cried, keep us: souls stricken
Low He hung His head but did not say.
Sickles hammers knives and swords
Are what you call your 'today'.
They stood, drenched by blood-bearing clouds
Fields of flesh burning away.