Today, I torture you with my own work. Read at your own peril…
Sanity is a fragile thing,
Not a thing to live in barren worlds.
Flames licked little bones,
The waters came and flooded her lungs,
And I watched the rise and fall of man,
In the eons between each breath.
Still, Death kissed her once-rounded cheeks.
I, unarmed against the carelessness of microbes,
Am left to ponder the ways of worms, clay, and roots.
I am taken aback at the silence of Armageddon,
Gazing upon the gaping wound of earth, scab of sod.
Now she is nothing…no more.
No more than the dream of angels.
And I Know…they cannot exist.