Submitted by Ann Neilson
“The skies they were ashen and sober;
the leaves they were crisped and sere-
the leaves they were withering and sere;
it was night in the lonesome October of
my most immemorial year” –Edgar Allan Poe “Ulalume”
The ominous sky reminded of
an apocalyptic world,
Its sadistic grin, blighting the grass
the trees and flowers, unfurled.
A history of moans and whimpers
of past ages erupted forth.
The ground cracked and showed no history
of hard work or of self-worth.
Contaminated cities of
Killed the earth with selfishness and
A symphony of pity falls
upon deaf ears turned away
Those who are apt don’t watch to find
the ending of the inhumane play.
A melancholy world where all move
alongside the tide of time
Weep for hope and pity from strangers;
alas, there are no souls to find.
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