Unbearable Loss

Withered hands
on withered lands
infertile with blood.
Snipped bud attract
carrion crows
they move slow
but seem to know
the marching dance of loss.
A knife
twisted 
the attempt and the deed
defeats us.
A river forged
blood let
blood washed
all guilty
brainwashed by
decaying dreams and
nightmarish
bliss
accuses us all:
how much did we know?