The Platform of Isolation
An afternoon of tea and biscuits,
staring into the floret of a flame,
the smell of ozone
and anonymous newscasters drone,
in this dark and silent time.
In all minds,
mankind is planning how to
refashion themselves from the grave
while the insistent chill of December’s pale light
reminds us that the end
will always come with fire or harps,
and we won’t have long to wait.
I like the Platform of Isolation poem. Maybe "itself" instead of "themselves" in line 8?
ReplyDeleteWhat a great catch! Thank you, I will correct for all future publications.
ReplyDelete