Escape Expressed as Loss on Venomous Sand

A siren travels solemnly throughout,
But stays unheard in,
Grey-scale foliage rife with bitter masks
Declaring what is right or wrong,
So it can fill their hollowness.

Across translucent shells
Of trees that were supposed to grow,
Then pruned by hands of those
Who saw themselves as messengers
And formed new rotten corners
Where shadows act as light,
A wind blows, pushes desperately,
But betterment remains unknown.

Thus, sitting down on lifeless ashes,
A pen that casts vain spells, profane,
Becomes a cane when everything
Burns quietly, a crooked grin,
In self-indulgent flames
That holders of such artefacts,
Pariahs, ousted and unloved,
Already found on dead horizons
When clocks still chewed elusive hopes.