Everything feels safe
when sanctuary is sublime,
filling the pleasure void
drifting through the aftermath....
Recalling your life,
this post-apocalyptic wasteland;
only just approximating
what used to be.
Yesterday's magnum opus; dissolved, desolate,
Hunkering down in the sparseness
of your own uninvited dystopia,
less than nothing.
No trusting anything, questioning everything;
while the minutes turn to sand,
and you survive to keep surviving,
and deceive yourself to keep believing
that everything can be the way it was.
It's enough to get you through,
starting and stopping;
in all its elegance
can't trick the Hope syndicate,
so yesterday you left for the sun. And Hope became the New World Order;
keeping you alive.
Until it started.
Apocalypse protocol on cue;
until it stops,
the rare flash of quiet comes;
inside the time factory in your head,
(the quiet disappeared and the factory closed after it all went down)
(But it's quiet now)
The seconds, they seem numbered and blurred.
A scarce luxury, this state of calm;