In 2118
In the Great War’s aftermath a handful survived,
though seven billion had perished.
Time to excavate a country’s history arrived
and much speculation had been nourished.
Survivors sought signs of the culture that had flourished.
Word-of-mouth history never explained
how the world’s once-great civilization fell,
or why such a small number remained.
Unearthing the White House proceeded well,
yet beneath it excavators found a mysterious cell.
This large, steel chamber was marked by the word “Banished,”
and as inquisitive searchers opened the vault,
curiosity promptly vanished.
Musty relics they examined without halt,
finally realizing what had been at fault.
Every document inscribed with “in God we trust”
and all references to a Creator
lay buried beneath dust.
Men lacking faith had believed there was no One greater;
hubris had been their annihilator.
English Quintain
May 19, 2018
Contest: ”In 100 Years”
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
