dreaming of goddesses, sunflowers and italian sunshine.
yet, every heaven has a hell under its surface.

write free, SomeFormOfWriting
miss you, LackingASocialLife
go be great, paperbird

Message to Readers

way beyond what this prompt intended, but who cares, it's my writing.

if you enjoyed this piece, comment!! likes tell writers nothing without feedback

why feign ignorance at the hour of our oblivion | #HomoSapiensStory

July 30, 2019

on the last day of the world,
i would not plant a tree.
to let its roots finger the
foreign soil under its girth,
to give it the illusion that
it might live to some greater
form would be cruel to such
a life - green, lush, then gone.

on the last day of the world,
i would not go looking for love.
we know where love can be
found, so why do we need
to go searching for more?
find me with my family,
sitting underneath our
mandarin tree - soil on your
pants doesn't matter when
there's no washing to do
tomorrow - there is none.

find me with my family, as
we watch the sun go down,
and i savour that which i love;
eating without caring for
manners or neatness - 
i will allow myself to let
the peach juice dribble down
my chin and i will lick the
sweetness from my palms;
i will play music, the songs
my parents grew up with,
and i grew to love, because
what is an ending but cinematic?
you can't have a montage
without a soundtrack. and
what better to relive than
our childhoods, when we
were bold and wild and free,
and the sun shone for days
on end, never faltering.

on the last day of the world,
i will not check the time.
there is nothing left to
wait for, nor shall i want to
count the hours, minutes,
seconds till i am oblivion.

on the last day of the world,
i will be staring into an
unforgiving star until my
vision goes black at the edges
because blindness will never
be an issue to those without
eyes. and yet, the sun
sets for the last time,
i'd like to think,
i let them close.

Login or Signup to provide a comment.

1 Comment