Waste piled high about my feet
As I make my way
Through the Origami-Town,
This discarded remnant of a civilisation.
The dead-beat tread of worn-out boots
Scuff out the fugue. As I scrunch my way
Across a beach that consists of nothing
Except plastic shells and arid rock pools
Piled high with tin cans. Tin cans
That shine like jewels. So beautiful,
Glinting in the endless torment of the winter sun.
A sun that shines within the burning cauldron
Of a blood-red sky. A wasteland devoid of clouds.
No shroud is there to hide the earthly remains here;
At the place that man came to die.
© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.