KT
OATMEAL
Inside what seems an eternal day dream
watching disaster wrestle with peace
in the front row of a premier.
As if under the attack of ecstasy
palms cupped around the ears
shaken by an abrupt storm of silence.
A drop of blood splashes upon my pants
like a broken faucet dripping repeatedly.
The panic of helplessness climbs my brain
like an elevator arriving from my heart.
As I watch from afar, in a constant stare
without a blink of an eye, or two.
The smoke continues to climb
forming what looks to be a mountain.
I'm questioned with so many answers
as I calmly, but surely paint this picture.
My eyes hold the brush of my imagination,
its bristles cascade across the canvas of the horizon.
Strokes of charred oranges and reds ripple towards
me. Behold! The stunning beauty of the apocalypse!
Pulsing o'er the pond pensively, perhaps it's appropriate
to paint this as "ponderous," because if life has taught
me anything, it is that death is clever. Even when its
carrier is simple. Or sent for simple reasons. Like,
"that's mine" or "I don't like this" or "I want that,"
even if they are premised with a thousand years of
hate, oppression and turmoil. A vacuum of humanity
is still a peasant when it's draped as a sultan.
The omegaton bombastic harbinger meters towards
me. It's hard to ignore now, but when wasn't it?
If you were looking, you would have seen its path
before the smokestack lightning struck.
That is all, I'm occupied at the moment.
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