Memories and Apocalypse

 

My mind,

Stained with the scent

Of fallout vapor,

Incineration of the ideal,

 

The perfection of the

Synapses misappropriated

With age of Metamorphosis

And the reality is

Idyllic in its disintegration.

 

We long for what can never be,

What waits in the ruin,

Beneath the fallen monuments

The salvation of a race

Might be had.

This entry was posted in poetry and tagged on by .

About Crystal Poor

I am a crafty and creative woman who is interested in poetry, art, long walks on beaches, and poking dead things on beaches with a stick. I have in recent years graduated from The Evergreen State College, got married, and am leading a fairly productive life outside in the world I love. It isn't always rainbows and butterflies but it's a good life, and I will keep creating things for as long as I live.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <s> <strike> <strong>