My children will ask questions, “Why’d they stay behind?” I’ll tell them they liked the desert and had always hated white Christmas'. They’ll laugh. I’ll smile but stop after I think about the baking streets and buildings—the emptiness.  Every day for the last 200 years the news’ doomsday clock counted down.  Eleven billion people ignored it.

Burned inside their homes
knowing life had lost meaning.
Trapped forever.

Three quarters of the world watched instead of digging, building, saving, living just a little bit longer.  We had time, help and everything we needed to build The Underground.  But they said there was no point hiding from the horsemen. Life went on like cinema in fast motion— there was love still fighting behind the madness and dawning doom.

No flowers for you.
A feather to remind us
how birds used to sing.

She had striking wit and long blonde hair that made most people jealous—everyone cut their hair short because of the heat.  Today, it was announced that at our latitude, sunrise tomorrow, the surface will be too hot for human life. We held hands as we waited in line to enter The Underground and watched the sunset. I kissed her forehead.

That was the last time
It was only beautiful,
and stars would be seen.

As the last ray of sunshine touched her locks of golden blonde hair there was no sobbing, no weeping for we knew Earth was finished.  It was lost before the Sun gave up, to billions of bright galaxies glimmering so far from home.  Hope had hid somewhere in the vast void between our worlds, frozen and dying with every scientific discovery.

My children still laugh
and my wife will smile
just a while longer