Sensorium

Red of desire,

Black of the night

Orange of the fire,

A world to ignite,

      This was the color of passion.

The odor of ashes

Rust and charred wood

Fill the deep gashes

Where cities once stood.

      This was the smell of hate

The hunger of nations,

A thirst of greed

Excrete indignations

On which to feed -

      This was the taste of madness

The winds softly speak

Of yesterday's worth

Where are the meek

To inherit the Earth?

      This is the touch of fate.