Years have passed, the fighting and strife is over.
Scars of the war show on the land, somber.
The imprints of every last soldier, every bomber,
Display the aftermath thousands of times over.
These remains aren’t all that’s left, in fact,
Certain relentless essences linger.
They rise with force, and like a bee’s stinger,
Ravage the land while leaving it intact.
Denizens do their best to retort, to fight back.
They fall, at rates previously unheard of.
They long for a sign, perhaps a pure dove,
Any hope not to recall skills they now lack.
Essences everywhere retreat, for what cause?
The populace is left puzzled, alas,
They feel their threat has not simply gone past.
Those fears have become their universal laws.