The Blast

A poem

Image by JEFF VBRA, via Unsplash. Edited by the author.

After the blast
all of those so called cowards suddenly made sense
having stuffed pockets with rocks and became
a part of the unchanging sea,

when the walls started to cave in
we saw their thoughts reflected in
dirty water, heavy water
which set upon the streets like a blanket,
which would sweep across the toes of our
radiated bodies, radiating pain
beneath the plummeting acidic rain.

After the blast,
nothing can ever be the same.

Buildings turned to jenga blocks,
bodies were tossed like grains of sand
by the kicking feet of a child on a beach
for the first time,

all of us partaking in
this cycle of
dehumanisation

watching the Black clouds
bury the full moon,

a rampant man is scorned, by what?

They put your body beneath
lead,
what exactly was it that
you bled for?