By: AishaBaden
Competition Year: 2013
Votes (16) | Comments (0)
< Previous     Next >    
they had ‘black gold’ - glittering fountains
of fire, peaceful cells where the servants slept,
cities so bright, they swore they were stars
and this was heaven, or so they say:

at dawn, a chorus of ‘engines’ would hum
a Cambrian song, 500 million years old
and ice would bleed and birds drifted away

to haunted lands where orchestras of fish
and shimmering trinkets washed up on the shores
of sinking cities, their treasures now obsolete -

the dregs of dead seagulls and ancient remains
we tiptoe on eggshells and try to reminisce.
Share this poem:
Register/Login to comment