LITTLE BOY
Wounds that will not heal:
The soul's whole festering scab
spans cremation grounds.
***
FAT MAN
Thus the hot air rises, beckoning, as if
willing its transubstantiation into
grey matter's triumph, mass murder by mushroom cloud.
***
After another long absence, here it is again. Who could stay away? I have something juicy and fruity to offer, hopefully by Tuesday if anyone cares to partake. You have all been on my minds.
Keep to the florescence of the creation of your minds, and take care in these times of confusion.
Rob Angeli
About the Creator
Rob Angeli
sunt lacrimae rerum et mentem mortalia tangunt
There are tears of things, and mortal objects touch the mind.
-Virgil Aeneid I.462
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More stories from Rob Angeli and writers in Poets and other communities.
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Comments (4)
So well written and strong ✍️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
"Mass murder by a mushroom cloud", that hit so hard. Loved your poem!
Well-wrought! I recently covered the literal fallout wrought by these 20th Century nightmares in my story "Wood Chips" and an article I wrote on The Polygon. The nuclear legacy is not one I think we should be enthusiastic to continue, given the irresponsible way we've handled it in the past, and some of the characters with their fingers hovering by the proverbial button now are the scariest, but I have hope that there are always those who will thwart them.
And Rob makes another smashing entrance from the behind the real world veil! This was great poem buddy 🤩 That ending, wooo…. It was powerful 😍