The Muse

(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