Whimsy

A Poem by A.J. Alexander

Apocalypse.

We reap black harvests
and dance on dead rye,
laughing as the forests go up in flames
and not really knowing why.

© 2008 A.J. Alexander

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Added on July 1, 2008
Last Updated on July 4, 2008

Author

A.J. Alexander

New York, NY

About

Welcome. I am a teenager from Long Island, New York, and I have been writing since I was in preschool. I learned to read at age three and have never stopped, so my style is a hybrid of influences; eve.. more..

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