I Started Writing Poetry Again. ~

[ethnique]

It's not really meant to rhyme, more of spoken words.

Dance of the Apocalypse.

Cold black bricks
of endless roads
loud and incoherent whispers
of unknown trails.

Smoke and cloud swallow city streets,
rays of toxic fumes engulf the sky.
Surviving eyes glimmer a void,
once heavy traffic now crawled to a defined slow.

Spotlights ablaze
touching faces in controlled thought.
Humans in line,
waiting for what's to come.

Panic, dread, fear.
Lives unknown,
feelings unexposed.
Blithe, excite, and desperation.

Bliss embraces, pain leaves scars
with invisible ink,
though not seen
it's all very real.

Crumbled buildings, broken homes
humans slither past what once was.
Tainted souls, blessed hearts hidden;
Nothing left
but destruction.