Notes About The Poem
Written on April 20th 2025 for Tom Woody's Ghost of Frankenstein Poetry Contest.
Playing God
An eerie wind blows through the decaying bushes on the outskirts,
while a rusted door sways on its broken hinges.
The smell of ozone lingers from thunder cracking in the distance,
as heavy rain unleashes upon the abandoned prairie.
A broken soul wanders the expanse,
searching for any solace in this apocalyptic world.
Her hair has gone white from loneliness,
slightly matted around desolate eyes—
long ago dulled when civilization died out,
decaying her spirit.
Why she was still left behind in this wasteland,
she does not know.
For that is the answer she so desperately seeks.
Her delicate hands, once gentle,
have been hardened by the harsh elements of time.
She used to stand tall among her peers—
statuesque like an Amazonian warrior.
Now, she stoops over,
forever looking down at the ground
to shield herself from the harsh light of day.
The sun has become a ball of fire,
searing into her flesh.
She doesn't know if it's getting closer to Earth,
or if it's the neverending exposure
making her feel as though she's being cooked alive.
The only relief comes when the rains fall.
A fleeting mercy.
A wash of life.
She must use them wisely,
for they are her only source of water—
her only source of hope.
Dusk settles over the horizon
as Maria returns to the dilapidated farmhouse
she has made her transitory home.
The smell of death hangs in the air;
Brushing aside garbage
piled upon the fading brown leather couch,
Maria rests her weary body for the evening.
Closing her burning eyes,
she tries to remember how she got here—
how humanity vanished
from what was once a lush world.
The silence plays tricks
on her fracturing mind.
Echoes of ghosts
reverberate through the howling wind.
Long-lost memories begin to flood back.
She was happy once.
Like old movies in her mind,
she remembers running among daisies with friends—
the fresh smell of cut grass
suddenly filling her nose.
A warmth blossoms in her frozen heart.
Opening her eyes,
she sees herself standing in that field.
Reaching down,
she picks up butter-colored flowers
with now-silken hands.
She knows this can't be real,
yet she prays to remain in this memory forever.
As she turns her head,
she sees a creek babbling nearby.
She walks to wash her face,
but suddenly freezes.
A rattling sound.
Flames in the distance.
The once crystal sapphire sky
turns ashen grey.
The ground rumbles beneath her feet
as screams pierce the once peaceful air.
Mushroom clouds blitz the atmosphere.
Atomic destruction at a molecular level.
Her amnesic mind awakens.
The scent of searing flesh
burns every hair in her nostrils.
The taste of absolute fear
courses through pulsating taste buds.
White-hot heat licks at Maria's delicate skin
as she runs into the bleakness.
Her lungs heave,
filling with thickening smoke.
Her legs tremble, turning to jelly.
She feels collapse is near
as she flees from impending doom.
Thunder roars in the distance,
snapping Maria back to the harsh present.
Humanity should have stepped in
before nuclear annihilation became the final resort.
Scientists played god—
splicing DNA of the extinct.
At first, it was harmless:
Dodo birds, Woolly Mammoths.
But greed crept in.
The rich paid for Saber-tooth pets.
Dinosaurs became attractions.
Nothing was off-limits.
Until it all spiraled out of control.
Earth’s *****sapiens were overrun.
Now only the “lucky” few remain—
roaming,
always on the run,
until nature restores
what was lost.
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