Cried Verses from the Bleak Wasteland
The wasteland stretches aimlessly, a graveyard of rusted metal and broken dreams. Screams echo through the desolate winds, carrying tales of glory. Here, amongst the tombstones, poets find their voice, bleeding verse onto parchment as black as the sky. Their words are barren, a mirror to the heart of this cursed land. Aching for rain, they write