When We Are Gone

 

When We Are Gone

and the ashen world sways lonely,

who will the bare branches whisper to?

Once they cradled cherry blossoms close like precious rubies,

now their leaves are shaken, silenced like their mouths.

When we are gone, and our children’s feet no longer leave prints

in Earth’s infertile soil, newspaper

 leaflets collect among the rusting cars,

 clog the black tar roads

(it would taste salty if anyone was there to taste it)

who will remember our names?

All is soot and dust coughed into the air as if from

some death begotten hag and

 no one is there to see it, to break the silence and

say our names.

Reviews

[Lindsay]

wow..very deep and thought provoking. i love the issue you present and your imagery is awesome. interesting topic..great write!