The Light

New generations will see
The light more brightly
Than we do: Armageddon
Is not what we were led
To expect. But behind
The undertow in the bay,
Filled with death and pain,
And the wrecked day
Some roaring cargo plane,
A devil whipping right
And left, no pattern to its din,
Fuels the terror of the beast
In the droning of the night
Its dim metallic roar
The rhyme of hopeless words
In a hotel brochure:
The last air drained
Of promise, coral, rum
Underneath the tired sun,
The clatter of fronds
In the lifeless dawn.
Our royal palms,
Pillars of fun,
Sprawl on the ground,
Their lives unfurled.
But when the bomb
Cyclone moves on,
Our island, our world,
Is bit by bit gone.

January 31st, 2025, Kaiholu