on 2020-07-26, 15:55

Apocalypse Lost (poem)

Apocalypse Lost

Cicadas newly emerged
tasted the air
and returned to bed.

Squirrels stopped games of tag
mid-summer to grub up
hoarded acorns.

Polar blisters burst.
Mountains leaked away.
The sky peeled off.

The last trumpet hissed.
No one arose.
No one returned.

-- Carl Bettis


Image info: World of Ghosts, copyright 2020 by by Carl Bettis, is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

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