We are the haven leaving

We dangle like an open wound.

Free for all critters - the ransack towards anatomy's garden. 

But some were not supposed to enter.

Bacteria changed the cells they burn hysteric. Swells the wound, let it expand. 

A hell which survives or kills. Boy, how it feasts on the wound.

Colliding through sanctuary veins; blues and greens. 

The fountain of its vital needs. Stripping its water.

How awfully it dried, how everything shaded and died.          

For the critters linked its chains, grew an arsenal, spoke a tongue the body did not fathom.

Bacteria killed, wiped species out like a gun.

Healing and knowledge, lost in translation to the critters who wanted to stay.

Infection continued to take us.

The garden no longer fruitful.

Cells bruised and fell.

Veins quarrelsome in dark blues and velvet hues, the water to sour fumes. 

Until infection leaked its poison, bleached all its flourishing. 

Systems from all tribes began to fail.

“Mend the wound!” They did not hear. 

Blind the bacteria pretended to see the terms.

If anatomy’s garden was no more. They are no longer. “Mend the wound.”