A Speed Drawing of me after the world ends
The whole thing took me about 30-45 minutes.
Comments are always welcome.
The frailty of it all revealed at last,
bleak and infernal winds shouldering the ash of the late world into murky void.
Everything unwound, fragile fibers ripping with no solid ground to root them.
Sirens played formless music for a silent age to come,
rocked the soil to the beat of its rumbling doom.
Now aluminum cans glint
in the subdued light of a banished sun.
Label-less treats summoned up from the ashes of our ruin.
The future isn't what it was.
Disturbing the soft insides of burnt shops,
leaving Calvin Klein rotting on hangers,
and stepping over blackened books heaps swollen with rain,
I wander through bitter ash under darkened skies.
Painting totem faces
on cast down skyscraper heights.
Sleeping on moldy mounds of charred remains
beneath starless nights and the indifferent sun,
sorrowing the violated corpse of the abiding Earth.
I am God
of rags, bandages, dust.
No sound but the wind.
While at night in the light of a fire
I namelessly hum dim memories of mini-malls
to milky and mud-colored skies.
The legacy of our strange age,
dazzling machines, color and form,
the memory of that world sustained only by my breath.
Trembling and brief, visible for an instant,
before being poured away into frigid atmosphere.
Rats and roaches creep in dank chaos,
alabaster bones in the campfire glare.
Lonely I sit amidst the tombs of us all,
diseased and decaying from decades before.
Why not go back
to stabbing at shadows
in the damp canyon forests
of ancestral dreams?
Why not wake up
to tight knuckled families,
and our white-picket lives?
Those ancient people are dead.
This is my world