#postapocalyptic
The sky cracks open, bleeding light,
A burning testament to endless night.
Oceans rise to claim their prey,
While ash and bone mark yesterday.
The trees fall silent, their roots are undone,
By hands that choked out the breath of the sun.
Every step feeling like a retreat,
The ground shifting and eroding beneath our feet.
How long have we lived in this lie?
Telling ourselves somehow we DESERVE the sky?
Every truth ignored, every warning dismissed,
Etched in stone on a long, ever growing list.
The rivers scream, but their voices fade,
Drowned by machines and progress made.
Noxious air we take in our heavy heads,
A punishment from the world we’ve struck dead.
We carry this weight, not out of pride,
But because there is simply nowhere left to hide.
The sky does not forgive, it can only endure,
Sole witness to our insatiable yearn to err.
Jan 7, 2025
Jan 7, 2025 at 1:00 PM UTC
Imagine a life
without buildings and structures
mayhem of all sorts.
Apr 24, 2023
Apr 24, 2023 at 11:35 AM UTC
Another night filled with ash and snow
An old man next to a fire with no home
Yet he sits still singing alone
Hoping for others to throw him a bone
Oh young ones wouldn’t you care to listen
Listen to an old man's advice
To some I’m known as leviathan
Although those people probably aren’t alive
But sit around my fire now
I’ll give you some wasteland advice
On what your deeds can sow
If your willing to pay the price
Money, power, love, revenge, tradition
They all mean the same really
Bunch of people with a mind that’s troubled
Bringing up old ideas with a thought of reinvoking
“We will build out of the ashes of the old”
“A new world meant for the survivors”
“Old masters destroyed because we weren’t meant to obey”
“WE ARE NO LONGER THE SLAVES BUT THE OWNERS”
Such lies are shouted often and loud
Good intentions no doubt
But to bring peace and order, blood must be shed
Hopes of being the hero must be doused
In the wasteland your supposed to become more
Yet we’re shackled to the past
Leaders promising they have the key to a locked door
Vowing that to **** the old you must sign the pact
Industries of sin run on blood and dust
Shiny lights counting down to a payout
Behind smoke and mirrors you find lust
All of this guarded by puppets pulled by a payroll
So young ones, what will you do
Denounce the past and try to be greater
Embrace sin and forsake moral duty
In the end you will die with no gravestone
But that’s just what I have to say
I’m only an old man with no home
Maybe we will meet another day
On that day I will judge your sins
Oct 21, 2020
Oct 21, 2020 at 2:07 PM UTC
The nuclear winter fell on this place,
This broken desert glen,
And whale bones serve as carcass homes
For the very last of men.
Oil runs like blood,
Across the broken, lifeless dune.
They siphon it from ancient cars,
And howl at the moon.
Corpses rot abandoned,
With an X upon their palm,
Irradiated from the night,
They call the Night of Bombs.
One man who lives forgotten,
On the taste of human skin,
The man exists in all of them,
The evil deep within.
Mar 26, 2018
Mar 26, 2018 at 3:36 PM UTC
The tinge of secondhand cigarettes fill the air,
Meshing with the scent of a stale motel.
The waft of solitary *** lingers on the unmade beds.
The dilapidated roofing, cracked and chipped,
Threatens to fall on its ghostly residents,
Who care little for the subpar shielding,
Which lets in the acid rain and crumbs of insulation.
The outside, which was once filled with children
Blowing bubbles, filling the moving air with floating life,
Now rests as a statue grey, unnerving in stasis.
Behind the front desk stands the concierge-
As timeless as the cobwebs in the corners and
Dust on the grandfather clock, long since unmoving.
"He was once a great man, as tall as Yggdrasil itself"
Residents were once told.
Now he stands grey and hunched,
As his residents lay sedated and soft.
Apr 10, 2017
Apr 10, 2017 at 6:20 PM UTC