All We Know Now is the Rubble

Today is the last day of NaPoWriMo. I can't say just how much of a whirlwind adventure this has been. I've met some amazing poets, rekindled friendships, and awoken realization. Thank you for reading.
And now, my final poem (maybe) of April:

I've been at this now for over two years,
and the truth of it is that it doesn't get any easier.
I can see it still, plain as day, though I would much rather stay awake
than have to relive the moment the sun devoured the Earth.
Some have said their nightmares give them the rest they need so
as to not have to face the grey skies and black hearts.

We won't know what happened. All we know now is the rubble.

People turn into animals. Wait. To say they turn into animals would
imply that they live under some carnal instinct and natural code.
Even in the wild, animals don't eat the dying.
Of course, the scavengers do. The buzzards and the vultures, the hyenas,

We didn't want to. But we did anyway.

I wander the roads, myself, without the dependence of another.
They tell me I'm walking a death sentence...
and I'm waiting for the period I can put to my story.
But, the truth is, I'm walking on my own feet,
propelled by my own legs. My fingers wrap around my bag,
hidden with my memories of the days that I would
walk along the beach hand in hand with the people
I would love to walk next to now.
I'm not walking a death sentence.
I'm walking to reawaken.


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