Seraph's Cry

i.
Concrete cracks
and flowers force
underneath to nest
vital roots.

ii.
The rats have eaten
through her skull.

Anorexic bones
mend among ivory,
discolored keys
and the roaches
are crawling putrid
as hands seek
nourishment.

She used to say
I had piano fingers.

iii.
Gunshots batter
like gentle raping
through flesh and
the window pane is
palmed crimson
fingerpricks on
sharded glass.

Firing synapses
are the only noise
in stereo ad nauseam
as ears bleed
and widows weep.

Peace was always
this way.

iv.
But who of you
know the weight
of a child's tear?