Wormwood
Wormwood
There is a place,
in the middle of nowhere... now. (hushed whisper)
It is hot and cooking,
and yet...things are green.
Nature has taken back,
what man destroyed.
Maybe not the way it should be,
but maybe it does not matter,
or it is too late an affair.
She has pushed past the evil,
in favor of...
We are yet,
to know for sure.
Yes, there are animals,
many but not the same.
The weak ones died.
The strong became stronger.
They became smarter, faster.
More clever, more aware.
Butterflies vanished.
Bees... small grains of sand
blown away.
The people were told to leave.
Many, even most did.
Some if not all returned,
the ones that had nowhere else,
to go.
Of them,
many died as well.
Again the invalids were weaned away,
and the mighty became better,
or at least less than dead.
What can be said for this place?
An accident waiting to happen...still.
As it already took place, and will again.
The concrete tomb is breaking down,
and evil is trying to crawl out from below.
From beneath the rock that man sat upon its face.
Brave heroes now are trying to fight,
what can only be heard.
A song of cancer and disease,
change to everything that was,
to something that is
and will be until the end.
The angel stands still...
a simple statue and tribute to the loss,
blowing the horn of warning,
now decades past.
How is time measured?
Not in moments of hesitation,
but souls gathered before the feast.
All the clocks have stopped,
a burst in the atmosphere.
So many still walking among the dead,
already corpses themselves,
unaware they have been
radiated not once,
but repeatedly...
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