A LETTER FROM THE POST-APOCALYPSE

A LETTER FROM THE POST-APOCALYPSE

In a land so barren, we are the chosen few,

Thankfully the gasmasks obstruct our view,

We were chosen to survive,

Yet for some reason we no longer feel alive,

The lakes are drying,

The trees are dying,

Nothing remains, nothing we once knew,

Only a colony of us and the tribulation we’ve went through,

Parched are not only our palates, also our minds,

Never in our wildest dreams, Earth’s destruction could we find,

The plains run rampant with the rabid crew,

Mad beasts with a thirst and hunger too,

Once metropolises are mere leveled ruins,

At night we listen to an old record player and its crackled tunes,

Over a fire built from the uprooted trees,

Some have muttered about life beyond the seas,

But I can’t imagine it being any better,

That is why I write to you this letter,

Whoever you are,

Wherever you are,

My name isn’t important, only the facts,

Nothing before the Apocalypse remains intact,

We live now in an alien world and are damned to do so,

Yet we survived for reasons I’ll never know,

The world saw it coming, the end truly was near,

We should have heeded the warnings that came year after year,

We’ll do our best to make good of this frenzy,

To the soul who reads this it is you I envy,

Remember our souls that were the first to survive,

Don’t repeat history, for you’ll no longer feel alive.

-brad