Mounds of rubble bathing the landscape
Time stands still and loses its memory
Blades are topped with crimson paint
Eyes of the innocent wondrously scan
The hand of the canyon crushes the gateway
Some plead with the skies, “Why me?”
The response is dark and violent

Emptiness becomes vividly strange
The greatest ambition smashed by startling reality
Achievements of great magnitude stolen

But sitting in the corner is a small child
Short and stout
He forces open his frosty blue eyes
He peers to the glimmer in the distance
Invisible to the crowd
Invisible to the parents
But his eyes still peered in the distance…