Tag Archives: nuclear war

Gehenna or Eden

It is spring. Still cool in the mornings. Warm days.

She sits in a swing, in a never completed park.

No grass. No paved tracks. No transplanted trees.

Just the little playground.

 

She thinks she is 17 now. Her birthday is in mid-March.

It might be April by now, though she doesn’t know for certain.

The war came. The fires came. The silence came.

She sits in a swing, and waits for him.

 

The wind was sewn, and the whirlwinds came a’reaping.

She has been alone for a year. She is always tired. Often hungry.

Her dreams are filled with terrors and wonders.

She wonders if she is a prophet for the remnant.

 

She knows he is following close behind. Is a wary? Is he waiting?

The silence that came after the fires has been the worst. No human voices.

All the batteries are dead. No way to hear music even.

She longs to speak, and to hear, and to touch.

 

She sits in the swing, waiting. She remembers her childhood.

She was swaddled and innocent, while the world was burning.

She knew not what was coming, but it came, and it took her too.

She remembered trying to swing as he as she could, laughing.

 

The boy, has been following her, and she hears him, out of sight.

She has much to fear from an unknown male, but she is lonely.

He is no older than she. Most likely just as tired, and hungry, and lonely.

Adam and Eve in Gehenna instead of Eden.

 

She looks up. There he is. They lock eyes. She smiles.

He walks to her, unsure, as if he’s afraid of spooking her.

She stays in the swing, and watches him, heart racing.

Will he kiss her cheek, or slit her throat? Is he a friend?

 

He goes to the swing beside her, and sits down.

It is spring. The morning is cool. Warm days.

The silence is perhaps broken now, voices speaking.

Maybe it’s a crack in all this death, life coming back.

 

Advertisements

No Garden Against The Fire

Jules left her boyfriend sleeping in the tent.

She sat by the fire, drinking piping hot and bitter

campfire coffee, hearing the gunfire from the city,

not far enough away, still close enough to catch them.

The mountains will burn to in the fire, all left as ash.

No new shoots of grass would shoot up again,

no clear waters, cool and clean, would flow again.

No new life would come here ever again.

The angel in the sky had crumbled, stone eroded,

and all the pieces were without light, and the wings

torn and useless, the halo fueled on the hellfire split open,

as a venerated demon let it loose, not seeing damnation coming.

Her boyfriend Sebastian comes out, finally awake. He sleeps fear away.

He sits beside her on the log in front of the fire. They sit in silence, not touching.

“Maybe we should go deeper into the forest.” He says.

“There’ll be no Eden there. No peace. No garden against the fire.”

Jules drinks her coffee. The sunlight as useless as his kisses. As useless as hope.

My Lover Has A Serpent’s Kiss

Bad dreams. Always bad dreams. Frantic. Exhausting.
I sit outside. Smoke a cigarette. Wait for Armageddon.

Nuclear silos nearby. Word could come. Arrogant fire.
Give an ape a match and he’ll always burn the jungle down.

 

My lover is still sleeping. She says The Fey will come for us.
We’ll live underground and be young forever and not burn.

My lover, while we were drinking, showed me the scar.
Scar on her belly. The aliens caesarianed her hybrid baby.

 

Fire. Nuclear fire. Big atomic blaze in the sky. Keeps us warm.
Fire. Nuclear fire. We flicked the flint on the sun. Burn ourselves.

The sun keeps it’s distance out of love. It’s generosity could ruin.
We bring it here. We make it here. Stupid, hate filled apes.

 

My lover calls a name in her sleep. His name. The one before.
The Fey feel distant. Like the heart I spray painted on Pluto.

My lover has a serpent’s kiss. The sweet venom gives visions.
I was beyond all space and time. And then I came down forever.

 

The sun. The Bomb. The Fey who might come through on a dare.
What was a kiss in the sky ends us with a fist on the earth.

My lover reads my thoughts, when the reels runs out on her dreams.
An intimate invasion. I saved that one word for my True Spirit:

CROATOAN!