Drifting in the terrible scream

Of a trembling explosion. Neat

Victims seeming to shimmer in the melting heat

Before thudding crisply dead as in some padded dream.

Water’s pure rainbow sucked dry into steam

At the elemental border. Manufactured order, Great

Like an old War, its fire squandered from the grate,

Fractures as Nature’s chaotic unfettered seam

Is mined in a panoply of rising octaves.

Life craves for it’s own empty, forced continuance

With every dirt soaked breath a horrid struggle

Until that essential calm meets and greets us to our graves.

A tidy randomness that not even the web of Science

Can stave off. Just ensure the space in-between isn’t dull.

Published by

The Sleepcoat League

Armchair anthropologist, sometime scribe, freelance philosopher, amateur artist, part-time poet, musical maven, alliteration aficionado.

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