Stop smashing this puny existence

 


Fantastic to be featured in Mood Muse Zine on the theme of Hope
see the below links to access my poem

https://heyzine.com/flip-book/7ff7fc532d.html#page/39

https://www.instagram.com/mood.muse.co/


Stop smashing this puny existence

 

In the Post-Apocalypse, there is quiet submission,

rebellious spirits and noisy thoughts.

At the edge of the city is a landscape of slag and gravel, shale and landfill.

Wet rills, leaking like silent tears divulge an archaeology of yesterday.

Runnels of polluted water condense from drifts of toxic mists.

Aimlessly she drives around seeking answers.

A nihilistic hopelessness has settled here,

an existential loneliness in postmodern moodiness.

“SMASH THIS PUNY EXISTENCE” a placard commands.

Not yet.

Hope is not dead.

I see the Little Flower herself, St Therese

sitting atop the landfill crag, collecting the by-products of industry.

Softly singing to herself and consumptively coughing every now and then.

In her hand she reveals the vertebrae of a fish, bone white, washed by the sea.

A single sachet of ground black pepper,

a marble with a stripe of yellow green in the middle and

the smallest doll from inside a Russian-doll-matryoshka.

These small things might anchor me in the days to come.

She looks up and says to me,

“Let us love, for that is what our hearts were made for.”

 



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