THE FALLOUT

silence is all around
winds rush us by
in the distance a red orange haze
and a cloud rises from the debris
a cloud of death and disease
a cloud to take everything away
a cloud to cover what is left
a sign of power and of punishment
to those who have risen up against the machine
who have spoken up their protest
and the machine speaks death into existence
reverberating through the shells of the habitants
leaving behind the dust-scratched wind of silence

© 2002 thomas bates