the world has gone wrong,
axis bent in a twist,
its people are lost
in the eyes of the somnambulist.
spines are broken, thoughts never spoken,
milky-white glaze covers their eyes,
blinded by darkness
no light in black skies.
urged to move forward,
"volunteer your free will!"
the zombies make sure
to proclaim freedom as swill.
minds clouds of smoke,
black holes where light should be,
souls devoured,
replaced with blank memory.
heedlessly trotting,
to some unknown doom,
broken and restless,
in the living-dead's tomb.
shackled by wrists,
by hands and by feet,
with no mind to rebel,
no opinions to defeat.
there is a void,
a break in time's space,
as a lone child thinks
of defeat of the race.
he watches them move,
devouring the souls,
of minds and of humans,
now mutated trolls.
his feet ground in soot,
procession stops with his tracks,
and the little boy looks
at what the world lacks.
no crying, no sorrow,
no pain, and no strife,
perfection erected,
at the cost of his life.