Hello PoetryVoting

Vote

Voting-Boards

Home

HomeFollowingInboxNotifications

Read

ReadLiftedFeedsHeartedHistoryMy poemsNew poem

Explore

ExploreOrbitsWordsTagsClassics
Log in
0
Stars
0
Embers
0
Alerts
0
Inbox

Vote

Voting-Boards

Home

HomeFollowingInboxNotifications

Read

ReadLiftedFeedsHeartedHistoryMy poemsNew poem

Explore

ExploreOrbitsWordsTagsClassics
Log in
0
Stars
0
Embers
0
Alerts
0
Inbox

In the Shadow of Satan

The world doesn’t end in a flash. It stumbles. A crisis begins not with a master plan but with a misread signal, a cyber intrusion mistaken for a launch, a leader reacting to shadows. No one wants Armageddon; they just want to avoid looking weak. That’s how the first exchange happens .... short, brutal, and almost entirely in the Northern Hemisphere.

 

Cities burn, but not all of them. The strikes fall on silos, airbases, ports, command centres. The doomsday maps are wrong: most warheads never leave their tubes. The world’s arsenals were built for deterrence, not for use, and even in chaos, institutions slow the hand that reaches for the final key.

 

Fallout doesn’t sweep the globe in a cinematic wave. The atmosphere refuses to obey the fantasies. Northern fallout stays north for weeks. The Southern Hemisphere absorbs only the long‑lived dust that drifts down slowly, unevenly, over months. New Zealand is not spared .... but it is not erased.

 

The real collapse is systemic, not radioactive. Trade dies. Fuel vanishes. Crops fail in the north and strain in the south. Governments fracture, then harden. Populations shrink, then stabilise. Survival becomes a matter of organisation, not bunkers.

 

New Zealand endures because it is small, remote, and unimportant to bomb. It suffers shortages, cold seasons, and political turmoil .... but not extinction. A reduced population learns to grow food under grey skies, rebuild local governance, and live without the world that once fed it.

 

The lesson is simple: The apocalypse the extremists imagine .... instant, total, final .... is a fantasy. The real danger is a world that survives in pieces, demanding intelligence from leaders who never had enough of it.

 

[email protected]

22May 2026

Request permission to use this poem
Written by
marshal-gebbie
81 / M / Australian
Published
May 22
Lines·Words
8·283
Permission

Request to use this poem

Tell marshal-gebbie how you would like to use it. We review requests before forwarding them.

AboutBlogFAQPrivacyTermsContact
© 2009-2026 Hello Poetry/v27.0 by @eliotyork
Explore
Hello PoetryVoting
Write