Death’s Dance in the Palms of Mortals

Booming turmoil through a normal day

There a sun turns red with rage

And here mortals writhe in pain

Embellishing one’s mind with all that gore

What’s the point, one may ask

In a world disturbed thus

Such questions appearing polarized

Endless debates leading to nowhere

Disturbed by the human toll

There is a tug at one’s heart

Far removed from all these miseries

And yet, is one an island?

Concern writ on the ones who survived

For victims of the perverseness of human mind

Concern that it could be me another time

Losing everything, spare inches from oblivion

The toil and sweat of a thousand gone

Cascading down into a pile of rubbish

Thousands thoughts being the definitive cause

While creation and destruction see-saw

One wonders at the infinite power to create and destroy

Scary though sounds such a proposition

Truth ringing from every aspect of this realization

One waits to see in what favour shall the balance tip....