Post-Apocalyptic Blues
Has Granny gone batty?
She tells us of love,
Of flowers and trees
And a thing called a ‘dove’.
But none of these things exist now today,
Since the world heated up
And the lakes turned to clay.
The deserts are barren
Around our estate,
It’s a fight for survival,
A fight against fate.
We hear England’s legends
Of a pleasant green land
But the truth that we’ve known
Is just mountains of sand.
It is said it was greed,
A disdain for the Earth,
That robbed this poor planet
Of its greatness and worth.
We hear these old stories
And yearn for those days
Where living was easy
Beneath the Sun’s rays,
We starve now and bake
If we venture outside
And they claim again oxygen
Prices will rise.
We fight for survival,
We fight just to live,
We fight and we fight,
There’s no love left to give.
Perhaps Granny is batty
With the things that she tells
Through a longing for legend
Of fresh water wells.
Or perhaps it’s a memory
That she holds so dear;
Yes – I see now the truth
In her lone dusty tear.
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.
