The dying stars light our skies
Shining from their yesterday lives
But what do we receive
When from here we leave
a light, a glimmer, or a reprise?
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181 Keeping Watch
Each day she watched through her window. Watched? Perhaps an exaggeration: a monochromatic nuclear aftermath remaining of the world, blurring into a blindness--loss of contrast and depth of field. Achromatic aberrations displayed a waste-scape stratified in grays.
By Gerard DiLeo3 days ago in Fiction
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