They were handing out pieces of the apocalypse today
little ones, able to slip right into your pocket
and just kind of sit poking into your thigh
so you wouldn’t forget they were there
I took two, in case I lost one
and left to walk over scorched rubble in the street
the onlookers bathed in moonlight where it could reach through
haze and smoke indistinguishable from their breath
with faces dancing, twisting in the firelight, ineffable and sublime
—
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Might have broken through the drought. Gonna run with a few ideas and see where they take me.
—
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Photo by Ricardo Gomez Angel on Unsplash
The Light is On 
10 responses to “Onlookers”
Excellent poem. I am wondering what are the “pieces of apocalypse”? News stories? Photographs of human suffering?
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Thanks Roger! You know, I didn’t really have a clear idea of what they were. I suppose they could be all of those, or maybe anything at all. Cheers (:
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I love this! Especially the opening lines.
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Thanks so much! (:
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Fantastic! Both the poem and the end of the drought. Happy writing!
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Thank you Dawn (: Cheers, and happy writing to you as well!
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This is so creative.
The dread pounces at you.
So uncomfortable.
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Thanks! I’m glad there was some pull to it (: much appreciated!
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the apocalypse IS drought
loved this piece because
it is fractured, piercing.
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Thank you very much! Cheers (:
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