Authored: January 26, 2023

Rivers of Black
Burnt clouds skim scarred skies
Birds pick at jagged bones
Winds scour at war torn ground
In the air is the scent of decomposition.

It's hard to grasp that Earth became a tomb planet
A global funeral
An elegy of rites for the dead
The stench was brutal and all encompassing.

What comes after?
How does a planet heal after mournful times?
Maybe the questions are wrong
Mayhap the questions should have been statements
Perhaps this will destroy you.

Cities stand empty
Houses remain dark
Once filled places are quiet
Regret fills hallway and roads
Apathy roams highways and laneways
Gardens weep at memories
Now comes the after.

Quiet.