The Nature of Explosives

Torment until the light of this world goes out
The message scratched into the head of a nail
Drive it in, pull it out, repeat the process
Until our skin is like a minefield after war
The bombs extracted, the land left to fester and scar
And no one knows how to deactivate them
So we piled them up and shut the door
Then built a home in the next room over
It’s the most efficient use of the space, you see
Subtlety is the nature of these explosives
And in the quiet hours of soft embrace
On streets overrun with the choking tide of peace
When all is still and wracked with unrequited love
Watch as the bombs begin to detonate

Image by WikiImages from Pixabay

I used this photo before, even though it didn’t totally fit the subject of the poem I attached it to. Now it’s a much better likeness. I wonder what the over/under is on humanity destroying itself before the century’s out?

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