When the world ceased,
shut away from each other,
they returned to reclaim their ancestral homes.
Roaming the streets freely, skittish deer
and their fawns in the centre of the city,
curious and free.
When the world ceased,
the air became fresher,
rivers just a little more clear.
They will roam these streets again,
long after we are gone,
wiped out by our own idiocy.
YOU ARE READING
Existential poetry
PoetryMy poetry book for poems that aren't all rainbows and sunshine, so it's probably going to be updated more often as most of my poems end up this way <3
