What will be left
after the wave sweeps through?
Despite a valiant attempt to prepare,
imminent danger swirling dark clouds in the air,
you're caught off guard, able to preserve
only a precious few.
Velvet-lined drawers
pulled shut against the end
in this ad hoc museum.
Inevitability, loss,
remnants of glory,
motes in sparkling rivulets:
these crudest artifacts
endure, as Life sinks back
into prehistoric murk.
You did what you could,
cataloguing specimens,
anticipating a resurgence,
when men and women
would once again work
to reconstitute joy.
Meanwhile,
cradling treasure,
you hold your own
as the tsunami hits
with dispassionate brutality
again and again.
Powerlessness personified,
trembling and quaking,
you burrow deep,
seeking silence in softest layers.
Sleep, falling away in shreds,
exposes the refugee.
YOU ARE READING
Out of this Earth
PoetryMusings on the luminous sometimes whimsical world of human love: Bring your heart to the Garden for a feast of Earthly delights but come prepared for unexpected twists and dark turns along the way.
