Fingers of belt torturing girth this lot had, ill-befitting far from kings.
Like dropped ‘furters on which furtive floor sludges cling, raw pink,
With stalks greened by smoking, stunk, emphysemic.
Hovered, portly shadows casted on numbered panels
Knew nuclear codes. Greedily submerged keys one two
As if ringing for a pizza. Content reigning over oblivion.
Three which deletes us.
They stuck their families in deep dug vaults
Once secured, the lights turned off for us all.
One last salvo went off
The dreaded, oft-talked nuclear assault.
Goliath threw his biggest stone
Ceaseless nightsky proved scythe-brandishing Death’s robe
Sight vanishing, slowly.
What’s that rolling in across the landing?
Better cover your noses.
Winter, only it doesn’t snow.
Alchemisland 
Leave a comment