The Last Pole

I stood upon the ruins of what was once a city;

Warsaw is nothing more than a mere wisp of a memory now,

As it was not, ever since they had arrived. 

I stared at what was once a home, that curiously belonged to me

As if such trifles mattered any more.

I stood upon the mounds of men,

Of what was once a living, breathing person and many, many more,

Now strewn away, frozen and stiff, 

And yet still hauntingly alive, 

Mocking the living, at the plight of life

I stood upon what was once a nation, 

As lands yielded to the greedy tentacles of flames infernal, of their device

As farms of fire spread their seeds,

As rains of fire drowned the ominous sound of a thousand bees

Bees that spit fire, and belched hate

I stood upon his gaze,

The hatred, cold and hard

I stood upon what was once me,
A haunting memory,

As I mocked, at the plight of their lives...