Pyrrhic

Land, fragments of stone to lord
over, decaying vegetation, collapsing petals.
People genuflecting with shock,

under the rule of new skins, people with
a foreign accent, strange syllables melting on
their tongues. more torn hearts for them

to rule, more lost souls of their own to mourn.
more territory on the world map, but more
spirits of death rising into the blood-stained

air. more monuments, temples ripped to shreds;
more houses, closets with faded remnants of
family gatherings and dinners, lying huddled

in a puddle of loss. more power in the eyes of
the world, but more tears back at home, bereaved
tears from little girls with pigtails and boys who

used to play with wooden, toy cars. who now roam
the city for pennies and respect, who put themselves
to bed when the radio static muffles, courtesy of

a waiting mother who wants her children to sleep.
more cascaded towers to stomp past--rooms which
housed tangled slivers of joy, radiant sparkles of

hope which fell as the layers of cement did. which
disappeared faster than the last flicker of life.
power as motivation, emotions concealed at the

rear, it was never worth it. power at the expense of
beautiful, glimmering life. war to gain, everything
to lose. Pyrrhic.