Member-only story
Final Strains
Poetry
One last song sounded in the distance on that day
where the earth ceased spinning in its routine,
each activity grounding to a standstill, awry,
while eyes glazed over and hearts sped to a stop.
There had always been the worries how the world
would end with a whisper, a quiet snuffing out,
but no one had ever expected it to happen just like that.
It was as brief as the snap of fingertips, of a piano piece
slowly trilling to its last lingering notes in the air.
Who knew that when the world needed saving
that no one could do a thing about it anyway —
because there was no preparation for something
that had not been a warning drawn in the sand?
*
The oceans parted ways from the shore, a cleansing
as tides flooded in every direction known to man,
and even the satellites with their recordings began
to crash past the atmosphere and onto once-homes.
The tragedy of Pompeii was nothing compared to what
