Member-only story
Our world is dying,
but we say long live the world — as panic rises and chaos ensues.
Soon the city streets will be empty of life and its beat —
but full of ghosts and shards of broken hearts.
Hope has been flat-lined,
can’t feel it breathing.
We wait to exhale.
This ain’t living.
Tis the season for joy to be sucked out of the remaining festive spirits.
In an age of so much darkness and little light,
memories of yester-years cloud the sky then slip away.
This is our time, a time we won’t soon forget — though we may try.
This is our winters tale, one for the history books —
soon to be shelved collecting dust untouched.
Who knew Driving Home for Christmas — would become a rebellion song? There is judgement all around.
My heart beats are heavy as my head pounds.
From a distance — I wish you well as the exodus is in full swing now.
There is no need to imagine scenes of desperate despair and weariness,
we’ve already arrived.
