Scorpions fly across the sky
A deathly sting in their tales
how many left to bury the dead?
the fire rains down like hail.
The scorched earth is missing life
a barren land like desert formed
survivors in pockets for a while
get ready now, this is the norm.
We had our choice, saw the signs
thought we could ease our fears
built bombs in all four corners
we should have built plough shears.
The ruling classes tried to hide
in bunkers filled like the hive
underestimated a fiery hell
and now they're buried alive.
The cockroach crawls among the dead
a meal cooked and overdone
no human life to clean the earth
all burnt corpses every one.
One day the sun will shine again
the world will warm, the birds will sing
ice will melt and grass will grow
the human race won't know a thing.
© D Marsden 2019
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Published by Dave's Poetry & Mystery...
Hi. I am a retired builder. Born in 1954. My interests are: motorcycling, cycling, woodworking, wood carving, visiting countryside, reading, writing poetry, short stories, writing mystery and of course my new interest is blogging.
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