Creation’s not done.
Forget the smashed skulls, the burned flesh.
and found wanting.
But life’s too full of itself
to just stop living.
There’s still water.
Still air.
All it takes is an amoeba or two
Maybe some are working on it now.
And the soil is not dead,
only stunned.
Nature’s details are there somewhere.
They just need to be pieced together.
Maybe humanity is stored in rocks.
Or even in its own bones.
Yes. someone launched the big one.
But this is not the end.
All the necessaries are in place.
The world will rise again.
Further total destruction depends on it.
About the Author
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Shift, River And South and Flights. Latest books, “Bittersweet”, “Subject Matters” and “Between Two Fires” are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in Rush, Writer’s Block and Trampoline.
