The second hand

  ticks

  over a silent room

  where sits the empty chair

  chained at the bent leg.

  A quiet sunlight

  tumbles in from beyond the

  iron bars

  unyielding.

  Once, the wind carried a soft

  flutter of rose warmth and

  serene sunshine.

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  Now, a thick dust settles

  over barren valleys

  stripped naked,

  left violated,

  discarded by those hands

  that once sowed the soil

  for the faintest flower.

  The clouds no longer

  need to inhabit the sky.

  They instead don

  thick coats of

  dust, radiance, and foul stenches

  to roam the place

  Where once there were others.