The scintillating estrella of this apocalyptic world juxtaposes with it an offence well pronounced...
With onslaught of the ridiculed regime, the valiant skeptics shall mourn the secluded results.
In the darkened spaces, with an unanimous surmounting valiancy, lies the restless figure...
With heavenly showers of bullets, outpouring the stingy rays of the mighty sun, she welcomes the kind gesture.
The troops conversed to her the meaning; meaning of the unachievable, yet achieved rivalry, a human could beget.
For the strokes were fully furnished with buckshots and razing venom fantastically, woozily kneaded.
The shameless sun didn't had the power to enlighten the lament conjured blustering souls...
Nor had it the privilege to dismantle the battling ones, fiercely, with one of its steady blow.
The disheveled earth sobbed of the scars bestowed with this ongoing monotonic war..
And cried relentlessly for its bosom creatures as she knew,the hatred in amongst, would extinct them lately for sure.
The nature, the mother, in battlefield, would have gone perplexed in choosing the familiar rival side..
But rather should have cherished to let them go disdain for their scrupulous rugged tragical vibes.
Restlessly did she witnessed the killing, the genocide of her bosomed creatures..
But alas! How could she iterate dumbly, coerce sinfully, to avoid the countless murders and hang the bloody murderers.
She in deep sorrow, with veil drooped with plasmic liquor,still whimpers for the robust killing..
For she, as always, remained a failure in apprehending the humans,fucking up with worthless milling.
Her condition now is of a numb Morgue with the freezing chastise,the conquering plague..
Restless! Tearless! Dauntless she rests, surviving the insidious sabotaging indisputable haze.
Flawlessly did she embody the haunting scars, less at front, grave to the deep inside...
Without creating any turmoil, she encapsulated herself, in search for the better ones, with all her might.
She, the mother, the nature, slowly incorporates the disheveled corpse, floating on its muddy surface..
And the fucking battling peers even don't have a heed, after they survived this ruthless dominant mystical waste.
The sun still shines, the moon unendingly sails, nothing has changed except for a thing...
The wailing mother has some of her hunks, buried deeply into her bosomed chests, and they do definitely sting.
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