Left after the storm,
All turned to ash,
Burnt in the fire,
Waiting for renewal or clearance.
The empty dystopian landscape,
Waiting for something to change,
Instead of the empty barren landscape.
The landscape gasping for air,
Gasping for life away from this empty ash-ridden world.
The storm has passed,
The destruction already-done.
Now what is left is the aftermath,
The pain-brush-stroked landscape.
To find itself once again.