This town, it was alive, once.
People lived here. They did.
Or, was that only in a story?
a story once read, heard,
or watched in a movie?
But, look. Here is evidence.
There are ruins, debris,
an awful lingering smell.
Listen, too. There are sounds.
Not the sounds of people.
They are all gone.
There is wind. You hear it?
A gentle whistling,
through trees and cracks in walls,
a warm wind, filled with scent,
scent of distant ocean,
and of fruit and spoiled meat
rotting in the sun.
There was meaning once.
People cared, at least
for themselves,
and for the few they loved.
No one cares now.
There is no meaning.
There is hardly even memory.
Only a few remember anything at all.
They remember voices,
strains of music and laughter.
Then, an horrified outcry.
Endless weeping followed.
And finally, a blistering roar of anger,
of hate, and of loathing
withering to an enveloping silence
and repulsive odoriferous cloud.
Is this world better now,
without its people?
Or maybe, the world is
only different, different
with a kind of sameness.
There once was an enjoyable spark.
It flared, shinning brightly even,
then faded into nothingness,
one of a vast array of
colorful but meaningless
flare ups on hollow
empty unending repeat.
The breeze, the gentle
warm wind that blows,
will eventually clean the air
and smooth over
all debris left about.
And nobody will care,
or remember whatever
meaning did exist.
Only the wind
and sun will continue,
until even they don’t.
|
Thursday, August 2nd, 2018
Santa Maria
CA
USA
|
