Cornucopia

A cornucopia of fiery sin
spills over into real life.
The bittersweet smell of
successful sinners lingers
over the acrid smoke of the
wicked dreams of the failed.
Spirits sold cheap for others
to fill with emotional damage,
like so many sandbags to hold
back an encroaching tide.
Dams can no longer retain
the stagnant boil of this
planet's abandoned refuse.
It has run dry of space and tolerance.
Shadows of gallows are cast all
across the once fruitful landscape.
The agonies of ancient battles still
reverberate and cry shrill from
the blood-caked ground.
Once declared a garden, now
little more than a graveyard.
As was probably written.