Nuclear Winter

Workshop

Each window conceals emotions,

In the high-rise soviet flats.

The deserted streets and light of

lanterns immerse me

​

Deeper into the sadness of winter.

Into my own thoughts of reality

People leave cars running over night

To keep the batteries warm

​

Their endless puffing in an expanse

Their futile maturations of the oil industry

I am grey like the clouds, wading the streets

I wonder if anyone will make it out

​

The winter’s demons are on the horizon

Ever-present like grey monoliths

A lamppost is a black silhouette

Amongst the snow on the ground

​

I am not sure if there is a god

But if there is, where do I pray?

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Find Me

Stalemate

Posted Aug 31, 2022, 10:41 PM UTC · edited

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