Three second trigger

Waves crash
Bombs blast
And so I go

Here I stand
Hands in pockets, black and hooded, standing over smouldering remains of dreams gone by.

I wonder what
Why,
How in the name of God?
(As they say)

A Creator has no hand in human indifference. Bewilderment is how I'd describe it best. I watch, distant and embittered as an explosion has already wreaked its havoc. Yet a poor, faltering hand places the pin back in a trigger already blown.

But the wounds already fester! The damage, irreparable and static. And then the smoke.