Apocalypse in Two Parts

One:

This is

the white-night

burst

of seven billion

voices singing

requiem dies irae

as mountains fall -

desperately breaking

independently

from the shards.

This is

the collective collapse

of a season of stars -

of Van Goghs and Mozarts,

and all those dug up

graves; bodies

loose in the wind.

This is

lovers’ last request;

worldwide relief

underneath burning wood,

silk moon,

translucent veil.

This is

the eulogy

of the earth.

This;

unwritten.

——————————————————————————————

Two:

H­ere,

the silent universe.

Here,

intergalactic war

halted, planets

bowed with rings

draped in black.

Here,

mourning the loss

of a child

who had merely

taken one shaky

footstep

into the dark.

Here,

solemn species

contemplate

the finality of this;

somewhere

an old-earth radio

creaks its way

into playing

Electric Light Orchestra

and the older ones sigh

remembering the

burned out

blue sky.

Here,

entire constellations

flick themselves

out of place;

an infinitesimal

blip

marked down

in universal history -

and songs echo

in a vacuum

for a brief eternity;

the collective memory

that once

just once

the earth had existed.

2018