Perverse

The day we learned the Earth was doomed –
five years until the end –
we talked and talked the whole night through
and talked it through again,

and conjured plans for how we’d weave
new patterns in the past,
to reinvent today and cleave
our future from its path –

but then fell quiet as dawn revealed,
through misted glass, blurred views
of rooftops, roads and distant fields
we knew, and knew we’d lose,

and morning light diminished day,
extinguishing our fight,
while fog set in to shroud and weigh
upon five years of night –

in which we peered, saw no reprieve
but jagged, fire lit forms,
and children cowed, down on their knees
at barricades of thorns.

The floor above us creaked – we shared
an awful thought – a glance;
a child’s soft foot fell on the stairs
and silence stopped our hearts.

We’ve planted trees, although we knew
they’d never be but young,
and raised our son and daughter to
be whom they might become.

Published: Firewords #11, 2018