Tag Archives: destruction

The Birds and the Bees

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The Birds and the Bees

The leaves hung like hummingbirds hovering for food. In swarms of suspended metals, autumn’s glinting deposits waited to settle on the scorched ground.

Next came the wind. Warmer than a lover’s kiss, colder than a refusal, it took me in its swirling embrace unsure whether to throttle or enfold. Me and that last of all trees in that last of all places.

Those leaves that remained whipped about like bees stinging at my skin, my throat, my everything. In beauty, I died.

We all did.

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The Final Statement

  
When the universe exploded, I was sad. I’d hoped for so much more than the deflated cloud of vermillion like so much spreading blood. There was no catastrophic bang, no grand finale, no last hurrah, in fact, barely a whimper. You’d have thought after all the effort in growing it, all the struggles both physical and metaphysical, there might have been some massive, last statement. But there wasn’t. What a pity. What a waste. I took my finger off the button.

From a Distance


 The invisible one,
 It ushers in on a breath,
 Lulling false securities,
 As it tickles the flowers;
 Then prods;
 Then pushes;
 Then stamps,
 In swathes of crescendo.
 Ravaging for no reason,
 A demonstration without need,
 The Storm finally abates.
 But only in the aftermath
 Is the beauty of the before
 Truly appreciated.
 Or so those who see it from a distance do say.
 Yes, only those from a distance.
 
 
 
 

The Clouds Roll By

 

In a vista of destruction

Of what we were and did,

Walls of crumbling concrete

Do seek a semblance of life.

Perforated by green shoots

And the beginnings of new forests

A broken city stands as a desolate reminder

Of the weakness of mankind to endure.

And, yet, in stark contrast,

A painted reminder of how even vapour 

Can be brought to beautiful life,

The clouds roll by.