One last thing
Before I began
Sweeping up ash
From the desolation
That will be left by your children
On distant planets
Centuries from now
Like the red dust
On the throne of Nergal
Foreseeing how your forefathers
So long ago
Devoured all that lay before them
Like Kronos
And how your mothers
Will have smothered
Their newborns
I remember how those escaping
Will swear that they will do better
A gleam of hope
Carried under burning fuel
A brother lifts a rock
Strikes his brother down
A branch sharpened
An acorn planted
A strike across the mouth
Timid kiss pressed against lips
Petals falling
The bee’s yellow coated legs
My ears ringing
With the cries of children
Not yet conceived
Pages turn
Before the book is opened
I wait for my birth
Within this tomb
And somberly shake my head
At all I will see
And all I have inherited
About the Creator
Aaron Morrison
Born during a (___natural disaster___), Aaron spends his free time exploring (___unusual location (plural) ___) and raising domesticated (___fictional creature (plural)___).
Author of LUNARTIC (and other poems)
insta: @theaaronmorrison
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