Blowing soot twists in scrollwork,
over cratered roads,
around splintered edges of a staggering barn.
A windmill rends metal on metal,
screeching above the tenor hum
keening in fence lines.
Wind scatters ash over concrete rubble,
a hollowed-out high-rise,
its charred icons and a trampled doll.
Gusts sculpt fields harrowed by siege engines,
scrape sharp edges of shattered windows
and shattered hope.
In palaces, the rich and powerful gamble away
borders and boundaries
while the world sends messages and memes.
Leaders regret as nightmare armies bleed into wastelands,
prayer flags caught in their long bones.
Nations try to forget the Death Cap rising,
the mushroom’s shining gills
of retina-searing light
and har Mĕgiddō
“And the demonic spirits gathered all the rulers and their armies to a place that in Hebrew is called har Mĕgiddō.”
About the Poem
Putin’s threat of nuclear war brought this piece to the surface of my consciousness.
About the Author
The author lives in Oregon and writes about the natural world as well topics of global interest.