The Year 3800

The year is three eight hundred.
A silence everywhere.
The oceans roam the cities,
and statues stand and stare.

The final battle over
for the final loaf of bread.
Now all the Earth is poison
and all the living dead.

The night in lonely beauty
is silver-grey and black
The stars look on for no man's mind
and no eye gazes back.

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.