On my back is a pack, a flavored rucksack
holding pictures of the past,
canned food and your signature, saying “I’ll see you
again someday,” but it doesn’t matter
much anymore, for the earth is fire,
poison and knives, not one of us is
safe even for a moment
anymore, but I promise you
and my descendants,
that after this is over, I will carry
your heart in mine again, for war cannot kill
the realities of the world, love in desolation
still shining like it’s colorized.
Sickly seeming serpents abroad, slivering, simply
viscous venomous virus, magnetlike a drop
of bloody sweat, among aphids
on a grave, jockeying for position
ahead the new world
order, we live in blood
raining like the sky, red sweeping down
andrewhalteromniblog 
great poem 🙂
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