View From The Window

My eyes collapsed on views outside.
I cried, I weep.
The future spent.
It's all death,
and broken branches,
bleak.

The magic window.
Majestic portal wide.
That membrane made
to keep it outside.

Black liquid desolation.
Pitch and smoke.
Rocks and bodies, charred.
No screams,
in this nightmare place.
No human race to see.
Nothing in this future limn
and nobody but me.

And here in this cubed room.
Pure white walls.
Minimalist sterility.
Perfection present,
history.
Window black once more.
The swinging lightbulb, regular.

I weep, I cried.
Is too late late?
The tail of the snake
I sit astride.

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.