And from these spectral shards, these phantom ashes
We are presented with a post-world of churned possibilities.
Fleeting whispers of a past that sharpened its blade
Until it thinned out into a dejected sigh, a poorly timed joke.
Shall the new green scintillate its way out of fading sludge?
Can human engineer its way out of impending loneliness?
If the sun, bloated orb of stubbornness, can still rise daintily,
Can’t us criminals follow suit? Allow us to be selfish once again.
If goodbye can only be executed through the big way out,
How can we gather courage to salute once more?
How can we crawl towards a forced outcome, beyond failed circuits,
If the merry-go-round already has oxidized its final twirl?
And yet, like flags that once waved in their gluttonous pride,
We shall keep on sucking vitality out of the gas mask,
Keep on borrowing chemical life out of its obsolete entrails,
Until the days stop abandoning us in a boundless prison
Of bleach rays and graying horizons, and we rise once more
To conjecture our way onto the next dream, accurate this time.