What remains in the aftermath of love?
As streets are built without sidewalks
As neighborhoods no longer have use for streetlights
As parks and sunsets turn into myths
As the stories of lies and deceit become the only nursery rhymes we pass on
As sex becomes as mundane as eating bread
And orgies become larger and more frequent than church communions
As semen become cheaper than blood
As faces become so interchangeable they're impossible to remember
And names turn into secrets
What remains?
When everywhere is no man's land
When childbearing is just a rare, yet escapable punishment from God
When children migrate in swarms between families like birds escaping winter
When love is just but a militarized weapon used for enslavement
When humanity is emancipated from their emotions
Shall we celebrate our independence by clearing our contacts list and changing numbers?
Shall we start each new year by picking a new stranger to stave off our hunger for the night?
When we stone those who learned each other's middle names
When we lock away anyone greedy enough to keep someone to themselves
And the married are sent to live in the madhouse
When the war of love have ended
And no one's heart returns home
What remains?
YOU ARE READING
Blooming in the Sand
PoetryRoses are beautiful by default. So Rose buds are supposed to be full of enthusiasm and excitement for what's undoubtedly to come. Except, some aren't planted where they're supposed to be, and instead struggle desperately to manifest their beauty...
