Cross Hairs of the Moon SRCross hairs of the moonShattered remains"It's been Nine years since last contact, this world, so quiet, nothing
.alive."The sun burned in a bright haze over the savannah. Once a city, a diamond in the rough, now nothing more than overgrowth on broken structures. The roads, long gone, crumbled to sand many years ago. Beyond the haze of red, the reflection of a pale, shattered moon, hangs in the distant horizon, spread out like dust in the evening sky.Alone, a stranger to this new world, walks a man through the overgrowth and sand. Treading between the once marveled structures, he alone basks in their final presence, before they become swallowed by the savannah. Walking to a destination unknown, upon hard, bare feet, the stranger as pale as the moon, heeds no admiration for the city's final moments, for he has seen many cities like it. Strapped at his side, the stranger carries a crude, thin rod of metal, poorly sharpened by stone. Running his hand through
the questionI ask this to the world:Though a restatement made many a time.Yet disregard our leisure of doubt.After all we are only human.Divided by thought and religion.Yet bought together in times of needI look about to no avail at the answer,For why is it so?How is it a race built off of each other's flesh?Find a purpose to exist?Why is it?That we as a race can overcome anythingBut divided as a government we achieve so little?Why is it?That green slips of paper of no real significance,Can end a life?What are we?Are we beasts?Bought forth to a primitive state,Where piles of paper control our actions?Where we supposedly elect an Alfa to lead our well-being?What is it?That gives them the rite to control us?What are we?To gain from pointless bloodshed,Ending livesKilling thoughts,IdeasOur future?What are we?