Apocalypse

Longing for solace,
she trudges along,
black and blue rags ribbon her trail;
her mahogany skin seared by saline tears
slowly descending from the pools of a moonless night.

Rays ravage her satiny skin
as they escape from a fiery inferno
burning brightly through the torrents,
cries of anger echo through the downpour,
but her lips cannot part to utter sound.

Rain drops slide slowly onto the concrete,
steam rises into the atmosphere
hallow, haggardly she stands
lost, lost in a whirl of wind
she must succumb to the elements.

Solid, stone structures collapse above her,
fissures form at her soles,
the abyss envelops her.
Her blindness brings a lasting peace.

Basic Brown

A figure adorned in white rags
psychotically painting across a black canvas.
She is a black queen
atop her wooden throne
giving life to a barren, empty world.

She creates:
she whittles weeping willows swaying in the wind;
sketches scorpions slithering through the sand.

The figure paints death and devastation:
sad shades of brown on a palette.
A sign of death,
she paints a parched piece of ground,
she sculpts a twisted twig.

Her mind roams
like a pack of hungry wolves,
over her creations, her children.

Land plentiful and thriving
stretched out before them,
water quenching their every thirst,
animals and plants living off her,
as she nurtures them;
her creations, her children.

They are taken from her at birth,
once mere dreams,
now abducted and given to the world.

Her brow scrunches,
to create she must give of herself,
give away her children.

She emerges from her thought green-eyed and vicious,
she paints a monstrous volcano-
lava flowing to land.

A bottomless feeling,
a yearning for each child lost,
her soul submits to destiny.