How beautiful—today the birds are chirping,
sun agleam against a cobalt backdrop
no clouds in sight and buds blooming through grass.

How uplifting—today the world is singing,
a staccato symphony of voices crying out,
singing from terraces, yards and windows, for all to hear.

How ironic—today is the death of the world
as appears, yet it’s backdrop, it’s soundtrack
unlike what’s been imagined, at least not exteriorly.

How instead—no fire and brimstone
with tears in the eyes as loved ones embraced
instead of through Hell raining down, it was a silent, melancholy spring.