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Who will notice?

Es­capril 2019
Prompt: it's the end of the world


Under the bit­ter gray sky
The dead marched for­ward,
Twin­kling eyes seep­ing blood,
Swim­ming gaits,
And false grins through fetid fa­cial trans­plants.

The hordes marched,
Paint­ing crim­son foot­steps on the land­scape
In a sham­bling, for­ward dance:
Hold hands with your part­ner,
Arms crossed,
Stand­ing in a line.
Let go and pull apart.
Never see each other again.

Hun­gry bel­lies hung from ex­posed ribs.
The clouds and the crowd would trem­ble in uni­son.
As they stepped over the corpses of those who had fallen,
Whose stapled-​together joints had given out,
They feared only hunger and storm
Until they too would fall,
And be tram­pled by the crowd.

Only as rot­ting feet cracked their brit­tle bones
And greedy hands har­vested their liv­ing or­gans
Would they learn the truth:
The world does not end with the crack of light­ning.
The world does not end with the decay of hunger.
Your world ends with your re­place­ment,
And the cur­rent world ends when all have been re­placed.
Who will no­tice and cry?
Who will rage if the light is car­ried for­ward?