Monday, September 16, 2019
The Dance of Death
There is barely time
to make it to the bunker.
I hesitate, before closing the hatch,
for one last look at the sky.
Everywhere, in these last days,
they have been doing the dance of death,
their smiles grimaces of denial.
The Third World rose,
as the Third World knows,
the warnings too dire
to be believed.
We watched in horror,
the madcap gaiety of the rich, macabre,
as the planet burned and seethed.
They say the earth will tilt
on its axis,
and topple some species off.
The ocean is swallowing the coast,
roaring through the mountain pass.
Mother Nature will soon be
free of us at last.
What few are left straggle
with burning feet and hooves
through an apocalyptic landscape.
All the prophecies were truths.
We lost our minds for a time
and forgot what we once knew:
You cant eat, drink or breathe money.
We have Eternity to rue.
One last look, for remembering.
I have supplies for not one year.
I have no way to fend them off
if the angry hordes come near.
for Izy's prompt at Real Toads: the Fallout Shelter. Oy.