Fed By Death

Through all the barricades
and menacing sentries,
we watch with
wistful apprehension
as a single green tendril
winds and curls
from the cremated,
salted,
radioactive earth.

She eyes
air raid sirens
while I fumble
with words
for an apology,
or at least
an armistice,
but life finds a way.

All these precautions,
all for her,
all for nothing.

It’s not so bad,
until you look up
and see
the aftermath
of a young man
who tried to
rule the world
with enraged wit
and bloodlust
for pounds of flesh.

As within,
so without.

Without.

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