Fallen buildings, and hopeless homeless stand hunched in their graves wondering about the book of Revelation. “They weren’t kidding” came to their minds in dead thoughts of a darker world than a three-foot closet where goals don’t matter. Living on the land, a land lost early on, they celebrate their prized creations while 7 chairs in each of them remain filled with evil. Sure, they dusted their homes, their cars and their clothes but they neglected the beauty of the Earth for a world of 7 sides closed on them for all eternity. Becoming smaller and smaller they realize they were the executive losers, the risen in their own egos of desires to find themselves in a bowling alley without pins wondering what happened as tombstones had their own epidemic.
Egos flare as they claim deserved parts of darkness, buy the most expensive evil, and compete to discover who is number 1 in a new world rot. Strange the way seagulls fly. Funny how dogs bark at shooting stars. What do they see the blind cannot? They fly through it all weaving dead cars in dead cities of dead seas where waves try to clean up debris.
Empty trash cans. Where are the angels of life? Are they visible to the dead? Is it too late to become butterflies again? Or do the dead remain as wolves chasing rabbits with carrots that claim to be gold? Will heads inevitably bow, slapped by their own gaunt faces? Will they realize that flowers were once painted by children who had dreams too?
innocence forgotten —
steam from the abyss
shaped like hands