Fire spreads, each string melting into one thing.
Tinny.
I slow to an almost-crawl, wandering, wondering—
where did everyone go?
The butterfly sits idly on the ground. Maybe drunkenly.
I wait for a while, but it stays stoic, like a gargoyle towering above a wasteland.
Its wings tilt slightly, like the Earth transitioning through a Milankovitch cycle.
Ice ages, then interglacial periods. Ice ages. Interglacial periods. Ice ages?
I shiver, not from cold. Comfort makes me hum with fear and I ask,
has it always been this way?
YOU ARE READING
A Touch of Wonder
PoetryA book of poetry filled with thoughts, experiences, and emotions. "As I walk down the slippery street, My face streaming with tears, The sadness can barely be sustained. But you suddenly kiss away my fears, My dear umbrella in the rain."
