Karen Savoy / Sputnik Photography
Flowers blooming.

Haunted by that dream of tomorrow, 
 that nightmare of mortality,  
 of foolish hubris, 
 of realized delusion,
 of fiery hell burning upon the once green,  
 the once alive, 
 the once beautiful, 
 so beautiful and clean, 
 promising and pure. 

Oh why, 
why did the mind grow to destroy itself, 
 why did the child taint their innocence, 
why did the white rabbit jump into the hole, 
and why did I follow. 

Back in those rainy nights, 
 black sky and empty heart, 
 how they all ignored, 
 how the tears gushed in silent damnation, 
 how she first looked, 
 how her eyes blossomed, 
 how her ocean flooded, 
 skin to skin, 
 black canvas and white brush, 
 portraits of pleasure swooning at each stroke. 

It was about the silent nights as eyes peered word by word, 
As she typed button after button,
As one dream became engulfed by two dreamers, 
We thought we were saving the world,  
but really, 
we were saving each other. 

So maybe it’s not so bad, it’s not so bad at all. 

This poem was originally published in print Volume 23, Issue 1 on Thursday, Aug. 31.