Lunar Landing

Walking home tonight,
The moon seemed
very near,
The night seemed
very close,
My life seemed
very brief,
I felt
very old,

and the future seemed

The future bleeds red onto my hands,
I feel it’s intestines wrapped around my fingers,
Who did this?
Who destroyed the future?
Who shot it down before me?
My mind runs riot.
Addled images jump and scream for my attention.

I blink.

Consider foolish Hope.
it’s sound strange on my lips,
like a word from some ancient and foreign tongue.

Hope.

Unfamiliar, laughable, naive.

Hope.

Brave, unforgetting, unforgiving, unrelenting.

Hope? (meme, neural-construct, mind-memory mismatch, deconstructable metaphor?)

Hope.

The place my future can survive.

(Hope?)
 
 
 

If you found that Poem disturbing and need an antidote try this.
 
 

BACK