After Us

By Aubrey Clyburn

I'm studying a lot of iambic pentameter right now + climate strikes = the following.

the earth will turn long after we are gone.

the last half-choking whisper having hushed,

a silence warm and soft as smoke alights

and clocks, now useless, halt their dogged march

to gaze upon the wreckage for a spell:

a field all trashed with metal skeletons,

a lonely beach awash in plastic ghosts,

a ghost-town-city drenched in poison haze;

all fallen quiet as the dusty moon.

then barely moving, not to break the hush,

in case a lurking foe still lies in wait,

worn gaia steals a furtive look around

and whispers, just a whistle, “are they gone?”

she shudders, shifting shoulders, breaking boulders;

the lichens creep across her battle wounds,

reclaiming all the ground we once staked ours;

and time rubbles the last of the skyscrapers

till industry fades to a banished dream.

we will be fossils stratified in rock

while new mosquitoes greet another day.

Thanks for reading!

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