Wasteland

The sky was silver with clouds
The landscape was painted with the souls of dead men
Smoke and fog wander across the bodies
Like scavengers looking for a feast.

The land was murdered
Nothing survived
No trees, no men, no beasts
The only movement is from the crows

They circle high above
Swimming through the stench of death and decay
They are drawn to death like moths to a flame
They hunger for a feast of rotting cadavers.