Apocalypse

The scorching sun beats down

on the decomposing bodies before my eyes.

Fog and smoke saturate the atmosphere

Beside me, a once-wealthy man painfully dies.

I keep asking myself: “How am I still here?”

 

Perhaps my wisdom emancipated me

from the inevitable devastation caused by greed.

I built a shelter in the last remaining tree

and filtered acid rain to drown my thirst.

The fruits it bore were tasteless, odourless

but they are responsible for my survival.

 

Alas, my dream of awakening humanity

has failed those who still worship money.

But I am still breathing, and so are those I adore

Now, at the end of time, I could not ask for more.

FreshPaint-16-2016.04.16-01.18.31

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