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Terminal Day
by
Anthony Bernstein
It was a strange, angry morning,
with holocaust brewing in frigid,
wind-swept air. It was a savage dawn
that greeted all in that frenzied, tuneless season. Apathy hung heavy around
the neck of civilization. Ignorance lorded over
the quickening days. Reality itself shrieked
in stark horror at the sight of its
own bastard progeny.
Trolling
wounded, sewage-laden streets, blighted
platoons of cracked feral youth mainlined
panic and trauma as if it were a drug. On all sides,
immaculate girders rose high to fashion lunatic towers
that loomed, tottered, and leered. Down their
stark, gleaming hallways
swaggered our future’s malign tenants
with fists raised in menace at the stars.
Their reptile wills girdled the globe like a
ring of flame, their jugular logic collared every soul
who was not yet ashes.
Our finest minds bled
the planet dry like a barrage of
slick bloated leaches. Spangles of their
shattered technology littered the chromium
horizon and chafed the very lid of heaven. Beyond the rim of
creation wheeled and foundered our lost ideal; the riving
earth heaved and lurched in rebuke of the new order.
Mountains walked, jungles fell to sand, cities were swallowed whole,
and the mirthless seas glutted themselves on entire populations.
Secure within the granite womb of a scarlet night,
awaited men of fire with lethal concubines.
Cunning words of liquid magma spewed out of every throat,
from their smoking pens flowed brave new histories.
With skill, doctors of oblivion practiced their ghastly art.
Mechanics of time held fast to the bloodthirsty years with leaden hands.
Yet renegade moments gnawed through their idiot fingers,
and devoured raw the hour of man!
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