Last Days
A poem in four acts
Act 1
I hear the crowd cheering in the distance.
“Today we feast!”
“Long live the King!”
But, in the midst of these joyful acclamations,
In the midst of the dancing and celebration,
A cloud of dust begins to rise in the horizon.
Act 2
Horror! Horror!
The screams of the innocent sting my ears.
The smell of burning buildings,
The smell of burning dreams,
The sight of freshly made orphans running
Aimlessly away.
Act 3
So I hide.
I hide and await the sound of retreating horses.
I slip from consciousness
In the roadside brush.
I awake to darkness,
And quiet.
Alone.
Act 4
Slowly, I make my way to the city.
The stench of burning lives
Fills my nostrils more and more
The closer I come.
I stand and look out at the devastation,
Frozen.
Dead, but with heart beating.
From somewhere beyond, I hear myself whisper:
“God rest the King.”
KW '12
KW '12
