(An International Journal of Poetry)
Volume-1 december-2011 Number-2
by John Behan
In the eyrie half glow,
The pulse of life ceased.
Dust thrown miles high,
Spread like an absurd mushroom.
The grim reaper worked to full maximum.
Silence like a blanket covers the world,
Bridges once magnificent, twisted wrecks,
Buildings reduced to piles of rubble.
Vast oceans heave, mixing radioactive poison.
In a small corner of an unknown place,
A woman made of ash kneels,
Her arms protecting a small child,
A slight breeze sends them to oblivion