Authored: July 6, 2022

The night is burning. The Moon has become the dark's Sun. The birds have long died, their bones haunt the ground. The oceans are burning and boiling away. Countries are no more; borders became a defunct notion. How does it feel to die of hunger? How does it feel to die of thirst? The last of mankind have become nomads, fighting for the last scraps. The final mandates of the military/industrial complex machines of death in the hands of desperate men and women.

We have become nomads
The cities are no go areas
Technology is dying like us on this forlorn world.
The Houses of Worship lay idle
Those few who are left will envy the dead.

The man watched from orbit down on a dying Earth. Somewhere around him, a deep machine-like voice started.

"We come thee to the funeral of your race. Such potentiality. Such loss. This Cosmos knew not of this loss until now. The Central Datum will observe, learn from this. There comes a point that even the Nodes of Evolution get a species so wrong."

"You were warned"

But we didn't listen.

"What defeat would bring...." the voice ceased, and silence ensued.

The man watched in silence.

The man remembered images. A late Farewell. The last Nomad.